Checkmate
by Pixel Mouse
Summary: School psychologist Arthur Kirkland attempts to break through to troubled student Alfred Jones with nothing more than a few games of chess. Somehow, he finds himself playing the role of a parent.
1. Mr Kirkland

Hey everyone! Thanks for checking this out. As a general disclaimer for this and future chapters: Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya and the characters in here are not meant to represent actual countries in the real world: only the fictional characters. Enjoy! :)

* * *

Alfred can only recall a handful of situations that have led to being called to the school's front office.

1\. When he was six years old, he fell down in the mud and needed a change of clothes.

2\. A few years later, he was attacked by a rather indignant Canada Goose. The nurse had a good laugh.

3\. During Alfred's first year (check that - _day_) of middle school, he decided to set off a stink-bomb in the boys locker room. The principal was not amused.

4\. When he was fourteen, his first year of high school, he joined the marching band and somehow wound up getting his head stuck in a tuba. The nurse at that school had a good laugh as well...as did the entirety of the fire department.

So that would make this the fifth time then, right? The four previous times, he had learned to expect the snickers and the chorus of drawn out "_oohs,_" from his classmates, sounding much like a car struggling to change gears on the on-ramp to a highway. Admittedly, he has been guilty of a few himself over the years as others were called out of class. What can he say? It brought ten seconds of class time that _didn't _have to be spent slaving away over trigonometry.

But in the library? Is it _really_ necessary? It isn't that he doesn't like attention, quite the opposite in fact. He just doesn't like _that_ kind of attention: the patronizing whispers that normally come from mud splatters, unfortunate tuba incidents, and goose bite marks (though people insist that geese have no teeth, Alfred, to this day, begs to differ). The best thing to do before the pissy office receptionist can ring in over the intercom again, demanding to know where he is and for him to him to report to the office _this very second _is to just suck it up and make the walk of shame to the front of the school so that he can fess up for...Come to think of it, what _had _he done? He's been sitting in the library: literally staring at a wall and doing nothing but daydreaming with a chemistry textbook sitting neglected underneath his elbows. At least he doesn't _think _he's done anything.

At the very least, Alfred gets to walk past the art room on the way, smelling like cut construction paper and wet glue. Somehow, it always reminds him of kindergarten.

He opens the office door tentatively, the only thing alerting the receptionist of his presence being the loud creaking of the rusty hinges.

The secretary looks up and smiles sympathetically (something Alfred didn't know she was capable of) before putting up a finger for him to wait while she finishes up her phone call. From the look she's wearing, it's probably a relentless parent complaining over a trivial problem that the she (is Mrs. Brown her name? Darn him and his bad memory) has no control over.

Alfred looks around the room awkwardly, from the plain round clock ticking, to the goldfish lazily gobbling at the surface of the water in a fishtank pushed up against the back wall. The main office isn't small, but he notices not for the first time that it's pathetically empty. Industrial tiles that were once white, but have long ago faded to a bright gray with little flecks of purple-blue and beige, cover the floor along with a far too small welcome matt that is in surprisingly good condition. It must be new. There are a few small windows, some metal folding chairs for people waiting to pick up their kids early, and blue plaster walls with two thick sickly green horizontal stripes to match the school colors. Alfred is pretty sure that the only reason there is a fish tank is to conceal a big dent in the wall. Though, honestly, the dent would probably be less of an eye sore than whatever half-brown substance that fish is swimming around in. Poor thing.

"Sorry about that," the secretary says, clicking the phone back into its holster after sighing and shaking her head. "You can go on back now."

Alfred cranes his neck to look down the office hallway behind the front desk. It looks more or less like the rest of the office. "Go where?" There's the nurse's office on the left, the counselor's office behind that, the meeting room somewhere on the right, and a multitude of other rooms that he doesn't know about and never cares to find out.

"They didn't tell you?"

Alfred shakes his head.

"The school psychologist's office. Mr. Arthur Kirkland is the third door on the right."

"The _what?" _he sputters. The _psychologist!? _"No. No way." He shakes his head again vigorously, blond mop of hair flying about. "Not happening."

"I'm sorry ," says, face hardening slightly into that '_I mean business' _expression, although she keeps her calm tone (most likely from years of practice with the more vocal parents over the phone), "but Mr. Kirkland called for _you _specifically."

But he doesn't need to talk to a psychologist! Alfred stands there for a moment, fuming and considering just flat out turning on his heel and making a run for it. Something tells him he won't get very far, though. Tacky and dilapidated as the school is, they have pristine security, and getting brought to the principal's office by one of the on-campus police officers isn't exactly near the top of his to-do list.

"Fine," he mutters finally, and walks back to the third door, feet dragging. He doesn't even knock, just bursts into the office.

A man with ruffled blonde hair and thick eyebrows (which in Alfred's opinion are several years overdue for a trim) is sitting at one of those circular red cafeteria tables with the wrap-around bench seats (which is odd, to say the least), writing, rather than at a desk. Geez, the school can't be _that _bad, can it?

"It's customary to knock, Mr. Jones," the psychologist says without looking up.

"My name is Alfred." He pulls out a beaten-up folding chair and flops onto it unceremoniously on the other side of the office, disregarding the bench seats that are already available at the psychologist's makeshift "desk".

Mr. Kirkland purses his lips, clearly annoyed, but says nothing. "Listen Alfred, it's my job to-"

"So what, do you think I'm crazy or something?" Alfred bursts, quite unlike himself, cutting the psychologist off.

"_Listen_ !" Arthur says, trying and failing to keep his voice down. A flicker of impatience shows in the set of his jaw for a moment before he's able to stamp his emotions down again. Alfred opens his mouth to correct the name, but the next thing his psychologist said stops the words in his throat.

"I called you here to talk to you about the loss of your mother." Arthur looks up at the student, who has paled a few shades, to make sure he won't interrupt again. "Alfred, it's my job to check up on students in your situation. So how are you?"

Alfred blinks a few times, wrapping his head around the simple, yet not so simple question. Of course, he knew that the conversation would go here, that this is why he was called into the office. He knew it the moment the receptionist told him who he was called up here to see. But still, to see someone approach the situation so boldly...it's a bit of a shock. Everyone he's talked to as of late has tried and put way too much effort into treating him as if nothing had happened (which is pointless because, at the root of it all, something _had _happened). Either that or they had just given him silent hugs and asked how he was with pitiful expressions without actually saying why they were asking, because, let's face it, it's an awkward topic to breach and both knew anyway. Both approaches are equally infuriating. He doesn't want pity, nor does he want anyone disrespecting his mother by pretending nothing happened to her. So here comes someone who treats the situation exactly as he wishes the dozens of others would, and how does he react? He's stunned out of any honest response.

"Me? Oh I'm fine!" The student's face transforms into it's typical bright smile that would make most people's cheeks sore after just a few minutes.

"This is a safe place you know." he gestures to the room: a pretty bland thing with the only windows being a thin strip of glass at the top of the room too small to see out of (the kind normally seen in showers), a small blue rug, the "desk," and a metal file cabinet. The plaster walls are cracked in several places, though not nearly as badly as whatever that toxic goldfish pond out there is concealing.

"Dude, I'm fine."

Arthur raises an eyebrow and turns his computer monitor toward his student.

"Your grades suggest otherwise."

Alfred grimaces. Yes, it's true. Lately, his grades have seen a slight decline (crashed and burned is what most people would say). He's never been able to get straight A's, though that's never really bothered him. It's always been mostly B's, with a fair amount of A's. Good enough. There's the occasional C, but he has never gotten a D. He's never even _imagined _getting a failing grade in a class before. Nevertheless, D's and F's have been splattered across his latest report card.

"The, uh," Alfred reaches up and adjusts his glasses nervously. "Umm. The classes got harder." He winces internally at his own excuse. This is one of those situations where he'll find the perfect comeback…. a week from now. But it's not _completely _unfathomable. Classes _do _tend to pick up the pace come second quarter.

"You were excelling in them a month ago."

Alfred shrugs, his half-convincing smile unwavering.

"What can I say? It's school, right? I can get them back to normal for you, though. Don't worry about me." He gives Mr. Kirkland a thumbs up and stands to leave.

Arthur sighs, deciding not to push his luck. He knows when a student isn't going to talk. Although it ends in a student giving him the finger (along with some choice words) more often than not, especially when he's with students that have just been in a fight or gotten suspended, he isn't unfamiliar with students like Alfred who will just say whatever it takes to leave.

"Do you need a pass back to class?"

Alfred shakes his head. "No. I have a free period right now."

Arthur can't help but smirk at his sour expression. Most sixteen year olds would _love_ to have a free period. "Where do you go for your free period?"

"Library with some friends." Alfred stands by the door and shifts from foot to foot, anxious to leave.

"You like to read?" Arthur asks, surprised. Alfred doesn't strike him as an avid reader for some reason. Especially not with _those_ grades...not that he's one to judge.

"No. That's why it's boring."

The psychologist chuckles lightly under his breath. "Would you by any chance be able to come see me after school some days?"

He shakes his head. "I have chess club."

Arthur does his best to hide his shock once again." Very well. You're free to go." He extends the little paper pass with his signature on it toward the student, despite him saying he doesn't need it.

Alfred leaves without another word.

* * *

The sixth time Alfred is called to the office is not two weeks later: a week or so before Thanksgiving.

Once again, he walks past his snickering "friends" and is directed to Arthur's depressingly bland office.

The computer has been pushed off to the side (on a floor against the wall. Alfred can't help but wonder how someone like Mr. Kirkland managed to move that dinosaur of a computer out of the way) and in the middle of the desk sits a chess board. It's a nice one, too: marble pieces and a marble board set into a reddish wood (mahogany?) frame.

Alfred raises his eyebrows.

"You said you were in chess club and that you didn't have a class this period?"

Arthur gets a hesitant nod in return. Alfred looks one second away from bolting, constantly shooting nervous glances towards the door.

"Good then. Sit down. Lets play."

"Why?" Alfred asks skeptically, dragging a chair up with a sound akin to nails on a chalkboard and once again ignoring the seats built into the table.

"You're failing all but one of your classes. I've found this game to improve focus." Arthur keeps the part about his secret hope that Alfred will eventually open up to him after so many visits to himself. He doesn't seem like one to fare very well in the uncomfortable silence that will be their chess games. He'll find out all in good time, he supposes. Alfred just frowns, jaw set and arms folded across his chest, staring indignantly before eventually reaching stiffly over the desk and moving a pawn forward two squares.

"Your move."

* * *

Alright, so there's chapter one! More chapters will be up soon. Any feedback would be very much appreciated! Thanks again for reading. :) This was originally past-tense and I've been going back and editing chapters to make the story present tense. If you find any straggling past tense words, let me know. :) Generally, I'll keep a section strictly based on one person's point of view, but I felt that I needed some of both here. Do any of you play chess? I think it's a fun, challenging game, but I personally STINK at it… and that's putting it lightly. Maybe you all have better luck with it.


	2. Two More Moves

Chapter Two!

* * *

"Checkmate," Arthur says monotonously, smirking as he moved his rook over, cornering Alfred's king between the rook and his queen. He's been expecting to win the whole time, of course.

Alfred studies the board for a moment, leaning down to eye level with the pieces before promptly flicking his king over and beginning to put the pieces back in the box.

"The game isn't over yet Alfred." Arthur says in that same nonchalant tone, setting Alfred's king back up and putting the pieces Alfred had cleaned up back onto their marble squares with little stone clacks.

Alfred raises an eyebrow. "I lost. There's nothing else to it."

"But the game isn't over. There are still two more moves left." And, for the most part, he's right. Any move he makes will be followed by Arthur taking his king.

Alfred rolls his eyes but complies nevertheless for some reason. He moves a pawn in between his king and Arthur's rook, which still leaves the king wide open to attack by Arthur's queen. And of course the Queen kills the King on the next move not two seconds later.

"Happy?" Alfred asks, rather agitated.

"Yes," Arthur replies, albit smugly. He thinks he hears his student mutter something along the lines of "sentimental old fool" under his breath as he packs his bag to go to his next class. "What was that?"

Alfred looks up him, resembling a deer caught in the headlights of a semi-truck for a brief moment.

"Oh. Um. Nothing."

"No, you most definitely said something." Arthur smiles, playing with him now. Alfred had stayed silent for the entire chess game, appearing to be lost in concentration. So much for his plan. Though something one of his old university professors said about letting people work things out themselves sometimes tickles the back of his mind, he decides it's time to start employing other tactics. Would humor, perhaps, get him to talk?

"Nothing. Just that the chess club never played it that way. They quit at checkmate."

"Yes, well its been awhile since I've last played, but I do believe those are the _official _rules."

"Why make me play past that point then? I had already lost."

"Only you hadn't." Arthur places the last chess piece in it's place inside the box.

"Well I was _going _to. It was inevitable. Again, what's the point?"

Arthur shrugs. He'll let Alfred think about that one for the next few days. Not to mention that he doesn't exactly know where he's going with this himself. It's just so uniquely _Arthur _to never pass up the challenge of a deep (yet utterly pointless) philosophical question like that. In truth, those kinds of questions tend to stress most people out more than anything else. It might be best to avoid them with his students from now on.

"Alfred. You know you can come talk to me about anything, right?"

The sixteen year old snorted. "Yeah. I'll keep that in mind, British dude." His tone is heavy with sarcasm and Arthur resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"I'm serious, Alfred. It's not healthy to keep your emotions all bottled up like that."

The teen shook his head. "You know you sound like an overdramatic teenage g-"

"Alfred!" Arthur interrupts, a bit more harsh than he originally intended. The student falls silent and Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose and leans back against the wall behind his seat, feeling a headache coming on. "I went to college for eight years studying psychology. I know these things. Some symptoms can actually show up on MRIs and...ugh." He lets out a breath.

Alfred still seems skeptical.

"No matter, Alfred," he sighs. "You can go now if you wish. Meet me back here for your free period tomorrow."

"I have to come here again _tomorrow?"_ He blinks, incredulous.

"And every day thereafter."

"You've got to be kidding me." The teen looks at his school psychologist with just that: a look half expecting the whole thing to wind up as a joke. "When can I actually have a _free _period? You know, _like I'm supposed to?"_

"As soon as you bring your grades up, Mr. Jones."

Alfred seems to stifle the urge to scowl and marches out of the office, but not before muttering "Alfred" as a correction.

* * *

Alfred is used to being the center of attention. He loves it. The thing is, he's never been entirely _aware _of it. Yeah, people like him, they care, et cetera et cetera, but he's been oblivious to the fact that that it's not like that for everyone else.

And then suddenly, he's not oblivious.

Suddenly, _that _happened. A car crash. Just a simple mistake of not looking clearly enough before making a left turn. It had been foggy and dark and that old car of theirs with the too bright headlights had caused a glare, or so the crash report had said. And that had been it.

Alfred is used to being the center of attention, but never like _this. _Never has he had strangers coming up to him to apologize, or to say things like "I can imagine what you must be going through." No. No; very few of them can imagine, so why would they bother even saying it? It annoys him to no end. On the other hand, the people who try to lift his spirits by pretending nothing has happened at all are even worse. Something _had _happened. Something _big. _Ignoring that was just downright disrespectful to all involved.

His grades are another matter entirely. He can't exactly put his finger on the problem there. He's not doing anything differently than he was when he was on honor roll last quarter...at least not to his knowledge. His highest grade right now is a C, and that's just in one class. The others are all Ds and Fs. He just doesn't understand it. He's studying harder and getting _lower _grades. Hours upon hours are spent at the desk in the corner of his room every night. Heck, he probably studies more than some of the top five students. That desk is a mess of papers and books bookmarks, andold plates and napkins. What else _can_ he do? He supposes his priorities have been rearranged lately, with _people_ sitting higher up on the list than homework, but isn't that how it's supposed to be anyway? If he's studying harder in spite of that, it certainly shouldn't matter.

Deep down, he knows that he should tell Arthur about all this. But the thought of someone rooting around in his head, pulling out it's most guarded content is just… sickening. Seriously, the thought actually makes his stomach churn. His mind is his, and he isn't just going to hand its content over all nilly willy.

Not now, and not ever.

* * *

Arthur gets up to change out the glasses collecting the rainwater that's leaking through the ceiling in his office. It had only started raining forty five minutes ago and already he's had to do this three times. He frowns, not sure how he'll get any work done at this rate.

The school had run out of money. A long time ago, in fact. The ceilings leaked, the walls were cracked, they only had wobbly metal chairs that made his back ache, he had to use an uneven, rather disgusting and stained cafeteria table for a desk, and the latest development: they had started laying off staff members.

He remembers his old school: the last one he had worked at. It wasn't rich, but it was very nice. This environment simply isn't suitable for learning. He'll probably be sick if he thought any more about how many mice and cockroaches he's had to get here (luckily, he hasn't been on glue trap duty for several weeks), and the leaky ceilings are starting to grow inky, puffy mold in some places...thankfully not in his office.

Arthur sighs, setting down another glass in a new place where the ceiling begins to drip. There isn't much he can do about the situation. Only worry about his students, or as the case may be, his one returning _student._

And he supposes that deserves a bit of worry.

* * *

Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited chapter one! Chapter three will be up by Sunday at the very latest. Any reviews or feedback are greatly appreciated!


	3. Trouble

Arthur never would have guessed that Alfred would willing come into his office half an hour before school even started.

And he's right: Alfred doesn't come willingly.

No, instead, he's towed along, struggling and cursing with his arms bound behind his back by an on-campus police officer with the principal walking sternly behind the two. The tap of her heels seems to mock the student all the way inside.

Arthur can only stare, dumbfounded, jaw completely slack due to the scene in front of him until a well pointed look from his boss reminds him to keep his composure. He coughs into his fist sheepishly and straightens his shirt out.

"Mrs. Elizaveta," Arthur stands up from his "desk," and nods in her direction, still unsure just what to make of the situation. Alfred stands hunched over due to his arms being held tightly behind him by the officer, panting slightly and avoiding any and all forms of eye contact. His hair, now slick with sweat, is stuck to the sides of his face.

"We found this one out in the parking lot picking a fight with a freshman. The other student needs medical treatment first and I think it would be best if they weren't both in the nurses office at the same time. Is it okay if he stays in here with you for now?" Elizaveta looks pointedly at her employee, chin raised ever so slightly. Arthur knows better than to say no...not that he would have anyway. Elizaveta isn't a bad boss, so to speak. She can be a bit pushy at times: something that really tests Arthur's patience (a thing that, as a high school psychologist, he''ll have to work on) but she's generally pretty reasonable.

Still, the budget cuts are taking their toll on everyone, especially the one doing the firing. It's plain to anyone who has known her for the past few years: the faint creases of worry lines on the normally smooth skin above her eyebrows, the way she often pinches the bridge of her nose in a hopeless attempt to fight off an endless assault of headaches, the list goes on.

"Yes, of course ma'am."

"Good then." She turns on her heel and walks out of the room, quickly followed by the police officer who releases Alfred with a grunt. The principal reappears in the doorway but a moment later. "And talk to him, will you?" A brief flicker of compassion washes across her face as she took in the sight of Alfred: bent over and rubbing his arms: a startling red where he had been held earlier. Alfred is a student she knows well, and for good reasons rather than this kind of trouble.

Arthur nods and mutters a quick "of course," before his boss slowly shuts the door, leaving the two alone.

They sit in silence for a moment. The only movement is the faint breeze of the air conditioner, churning mechanically somewhere in the ceiling above them.

It's Arthur who finally breaks the quiet with a sigh. "Are you okay?" His tone is nonchalant, almost as though he doesn't care. In fact though, he just doesn't know what to do.

Alfred looks up abruptly, surprised and even a bit startled by the question.

It's only then that Arthur is able to see the deep cut on the base of his jaw, leading down to the top of his neck and still bleeding freely. Stubborn as always, the student just nods and continued his sulking.

"Be right back," Arthur says suddenly, getting up from his desk and leaving a befuddled Alfred behind. It might be a while before he's allowed into the nurses office and he can't see that bleeding stopping anytime soon. Arthur knocks twice on the door, struggling to turn the sticking handle after he hears the nurse tell him to come in.

He stops in his tracks when he sees the student inside. It's a younger student, a good head shorter than Alfred and much slimmer as well. He sits on the edge of the low teal cot, hunched over with some paper towels (the brown ones found in an unfortunate array of different places that seem to repel liquid rather than absorb it) bunched up over his nose. The bridge of his nose had a piece of gauze taped across it, and a blotchy colorful bruise flares up just under the right eye, taking up the entirety of his cheek. The freshman breathes through his mouth heavily as his nose continues to bleed into the paper towels. Red splotched crumpled up napkins fill a waste bin next to the cot. Arthur can't help but wince internally.

"Do you think it's broken?" the student asks, rather nasally: most likely not a good sign.

"Looks like it probably is, sweetie." the nurse responds, eyebrows turning down at the outside in sympathy. She reaches into an ice chest and shovels some ring-shaped cubes into a zip-lock for the bruise's swelling.

"Mind if I grab some things for the other student?" Arthur asks. The nurse nods and quickly waves him along, not wanting to be interrupted in caring for the victimized one. Arthur isn't quite sure what he needs from here. He doesn't really have any medical training aside from a CPR class he was required to take for this job (though he doubts he'll actually be able to give CPR if a situation calls for it). A bandage and antiseptic? Yeah, that sounds right. And some ice for Alfred's wrists where the officer had been holding him might not be a bad idea either now that he thought about it.

Inside his office, Alfred hasn't moved an inch.

"Here. Put this on your arms." Arthur extends the bag of ice out.

"I said I was fine," he says quietly, even as he takes the bag of ice. The marks on his arms are still angry and pink. Actually, that quite brothers Arthur. There had been no need to use that kind of force with Alfred, especially after he stopped fighting. Arthur might have to write a complaint about that…

"And as for that cut…" Arthur tears open the paper package for the antiseptic wipe. "I think these things sting. Hold on." He presses it up against the narrow gash, making Alfred hiss in pain, but he doesn't complain even when Arthur puts the bandage on (and badly, he might add), something Alfred is perfectly capable of doing himself.

"Thanks," he says, bringing one hand out from under the bag of ice to feel the bandage. It had probably been years since someone has treated him like a little kid and put on a band-aid for him.

"No worries." Arthur tosses the band-aid wrapper toward the trash can, some of the pieces fluttering back and forth and missing the bin completely.

The bell for class startles them then: one long electronic drone over the loudspeaker which makes Alfred shift uncomfortably.

"I should probably get going…" he trails off, glancing around, although the room is as bland as ever.

"No, I think you should stay."

Alfred settles back into his chair, though Arthur can't tell if it's out of relief or not.

"So are you going to yell at me?" He asks, still not having made eye contact since he was brought into the office.

"No." Arthur scratches the back of his neck. Truth be told, he doesn't know _what _he's going to do. Sure, some (actually a lot) of the frequent trouble makers have been brought to him before, but they don't respect him. They don't care about their actions and in most cases, are even quite proud of them. The only way to get them to stop is through heavy punishment. Even if they don't have the moral sense of right from wrong, at least he can get a few of them to stop harassing the masses.

But that isn't the case with Alfred. He may not particularly like Arthur, but that doesn't mean he's at a total loss of respect for him either.

"How is he?" Alfred's voice, quiet and low, cuts through Arthur's musing. He's finally making eye contact.

"Huh?"

"The other kid. The one that I...you know."

"Beat up?"

Alfred looks back down at the toes of his shoes. "Yeah."

Arthur wonders briefly if he should lie to Alfred and sugar coat the whole thing. After all, he looks like he can use something to take some weight off of his conscience right about now. But no, Arthur decides; he needs and deserves to know what he has done.

"I didn't see much other than his face, but there was a pretty nasty bruise already...and from the looks of it, I think you may have broken his nose."

With that, it looks as though Arthur has just struck the student across the face himself.

"I'm sorry," Alfred groans, promptly pressing his face into the outstretched palms of his hands.

"I know." Arthur stands up and moves around to the other side of the table, rubbing circles on the teen's back. He initially flinches away but then readily relents to it.

"I don't have to go back to class, do I? Can't I just go home?"

Arthur chuckled silently to himself. Teens. Always looking for a way out of school. "No, I'm afraid I can't let you just walk off campus like that...You can, however, stay here for first period to get your thoughts collected and the like."

Alfred nods, still not removing his head from his hands. "What are my friends going to think?"

"Your friends?" Arthur frowns. They should be the last thing on his mind. Shouldn't the kid whose nose he just broke be more towards the top of the priority list?

"I know, I know." Alfred waved a hand in the air, apparently guessing what the psychologist had been thinking. "Trust me, I'm more worried about the freshman, it's just…" Alfred struggles, at a loss for words.

"It's just that you're a teenager with a social group." Arthur puts his hands up. "I get it… Now, you know that your behavior here today was-"

"Horrible?" Alfred fills in.

Arthur smiles sadly. "Can't be excused, at least not with the zero tolerance policy."

Alfred sinks down further in his chair, eyes glazed over. "I know."

"Now, I can't speak for the rest of school, but you're a good kid who obviously regrets this. You won't get any trouble from my end."

"Thanks." Alfred says, eyes flickering up for a minute. He takes a deep breath, conscience visibly much lighter.

Both are suddenly rattled out of their thoughts once again by the loudspeaker: that crisp, annoyingly familiar high pitched buzz. Alfred tenses next to Arthur, muscles bunching up. First period is over. That's odd. It's only been about ten minutes. Sure, on occasion first block is cut short: just used to take attendance and make room for a rally or ceremony at the end of the day, but he hadn't seen an e-mail about an altered schedule (though his computer is still technically unplugged, so he can't hold that against them) or at yesterday's staff meeting. But with the disarray of the school, Arthur wouldn't put the failure to mention this above anyone.

"I think you should get back to class now. It's hard to catch up on a missed trigonometry lesson you know."

"Please?" Alfred beggs, looking up at him exactly like a lost puppy. "You said I could stay!" Arthur can't deny how good it feels for a student to be _begging _to stay. More often than not he's cursed out by the little brats.

But he has the job of doing what's best for them, and Alfred needs an education. He's failing that trig class.

"Sorry, but you have to go class now." His voice is leaning more toward the stern side, hardening slightly.

Alfred's eyes dart quickly around the room, searching for any inspiration for an excuse that will keep him from going to class. His eyes land on the old massive computer monitor, still sitting on the floor of the office.

"What about chess? Do you still have that chess board?"

Arthur's eyes flicker. "_Yes," _he answers cautiously

"Good. Lets do that then." Alfred zeroes in on the board resting atop the file cabinet and snatches it off quickly, sending a number of marble pieces flying towards the floor.

"Gah!" Arthur dives out to save as many pieces as he can before they landed. "No! Alfred, I understand it will be hard to face your classmates after that...incident, but you really do need to get going to math class. We can play after that, when you have your free period."

"But look!" He stands the fallen pieces up, which clack vigorously against the marble checkers with the force that they're being handled with. "Look, it's already set up!"

In all honesty, Arthur's student looks half hysterical. He really can't miss that math class though. Arthur wants to bang his head against the wall as he feels himself caving, a slow grin spreading across his face. He supposed that a little chess never hurt anyone...

* * *

Alfred has only managed to move two pawns when Arthur starts with the psychologist crap again.

"At the risk of bringing up an awkward conversation...this morning was very unlike you."

Alfred grimaces internally and feigns excessive interest in the game. "I know."  
The look on Arthur's face could only be described as 'you've got to be kidding me.'

"Fine, if you want to do this the hard way: _why?"_

Alfred only shrugs.

"Oh come on! _Can't you give me something to work with!?" _Alfred's expression is answer enough. The psychologist sighs and runs a hand through his already unruly blond hair. "Alright. Nevermind. Forget it."

Alfred relaxes, relieved that the issue has been dropped. Still, he feels inclined to throw Mr. Kirkland a bone. After all, he _has _let him stay...

"I don't know. He only said something that ticked me off and I just kinda…"

"Snapped?" Arthur offers.

"...Yeah."

Arthur taps his fingers against his desk, seeming to debate if he should continue or not. "What did he say?"

"It was nothing," Alfred mutters, moving a third pawn forward. Another awkward pause ensues.

"Was it about your mother?" Arthur whispers suddenly, looking down at his hands folded atop the desk.

Alfred's head shoots up in shock, eyes shining. "No." He looks down again just long enough to move the bishop forward three squares and back up at Arthur. "It just ticked me off is all. Everyone has something to say about Mom, and though this time it had nothing to do with her...I don't know. It was just the last straw."

Arthur, in a word, looks triumphant at squeezing that confession, though miniscule, out of his student. "You know, this is why I wanted you to talk to me earlier. We could have prevented this whole thing."

"Well I didn't, okay?" Alfred retorts rather harshly, hands balling up into fists.

Arthur holds both hands up in the air, palms forward. "Calm down. I get it."

"Sorry," he sighs. "Check by the way."

Arthur does a double take and turns his attention back to the board, this being the first time Alfred is able to say 'check.' Gosh, the kid really _is _an awful chess player. It's a wonder the chess club doesn't kick him out altogether. He moves a pawn up, taking Alfred's queen. Alfred curses under his breath.

Arthur suddenly stiffens at the sound of heels clacking down the hallway outside, probably the principal's since she's normally the only one up and walking around the office in the mornings. Alfred raises an eyebrow. Is the psychologist scared of her? But then there comes the sound of the nurse's door across from them being thrown open with a loud clank and the resounding thud as it bounces off the wall. Obscenities and screaming soon ensue, though they aren't in Mrs. Elizaveta's voice.

Judging by the "who did this to my boy" and the "where is this kid?" it's probably the other teen's mother.

"Crap," Alfred hisses before rattling of a string of other swear words too low for anyone else to make out. That woman's voice is _loud _and some of the things she says she'll do if she gets her hands on him makes him shudder. There are several mentions of broken spines, skulls, and ripped out throats. Alfred looks at Arthur wide-eyed, again like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming tractor trailer.

"You know what?" Arthur says, clasping his hands together with a loud smack, "After rethinking what I said earlier, I think that walking off campus and going home for the remainder of the school day would be an _excellent_ idea."

"But how?" Alfred looks back toward the door. The screaming is coming from just across the hallway

"There's a back door at the other end of the hallway," Arthur says, walking toward his own office door and peeking his head out. The mother is completely inside of the nurses office and with her back to the door. '_Coast is clear,' _he mouths. Alfred promptly dashes down the hall with Arthur hot on his heels in case he runs into trouble, and out to the back door, which opens with an ear-splitting shriek, apparently having gone unused for years. Both turn around, scared to see if the door has blown their cover. Nobody steps out of the nurses office to investigate though.

"Stay safe," Arthur whispers, practically shoving Alfred down the cement steps at the foot of the door.

"Wait so...I'm not going to get in trouble for any of this?"

Arthur frowns. "Leaving for safety concerns? No. As for earlier this morning, If Mrs. Elizaveta writes anything up, I'm afraid I can't do anything, which is likely, required actually." He steps outside and shuts the door behind him to make sure they aren't discovered, "but no, nothing from me."

"Thanks again." Alfred just stands there and scratches his head, not sure if a more lengthy reply is owed.

"Now, unless you're just itching to get a skull fracture or have your throat ripped out, I believe this is the part where you run."

"Oh, right." He turns to leave. "Wait! So can I claim this last game of chess as a victory for myself?"

The psychologist starts laughing, both at the absurdity of the request and the order of Alfred's priorities at the given moment. "No way! You didn't come remotely close to beating me."

"Hey! I called check though."

Arthur grins. "And then lost your queen via a _pawn_. Now hurry up and get moving."

"I'll beat you one day," the teen calls out, grinning authentically for the first time that day before breaking out in a run.

"Not on your life, Mr. Jones!" Arthur yells back, laughing. He's back inside before he can hear the correction: "It's Alfred!"

* * *

The story is still alive; I promise! I know it's been…...gosh, probably months since I wrote anything on here, but I'm now back. My deepest deepest _deepest_ apologies for the delay. Life decided to be life, and I've hardly had time lately to eat let alone write. That being said, I'll try extra hard to _make_ time for this, no excuses, and will be updating regularly. I believe I said that I hoped to be updating every week in the last chapter. Though this is still my goal, it may be a bit longer in between updates. That being said, I hope that a slightly longer chapter, and updates to chapters one and two can start to make up for the delay. I hope to be updating my other stories too, but this one is at the top of my priority list right now. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story, read, favorited, and reviewed! Reviews mean a lot, and are greatly appreciated. :) Thanks (and sorry) again!


	4. The Arts

To put it simply, Arthur is exhausted. Completely and utterly exhausted, but it's more mental than physical.

Arthur, though (for some odd reason) he hates to admit it, has grown rather fond of his troubled little student (not that he can be called little). Despite this, the psychologist is rather annoyed with the darn kid right about now.

Yes, Alfred had indeed broken the other student's nose, and Elizaveta had decided not to report the incident at all. Something like that would look bad for the school, and heaven knows that none of the faculty can afford the district coming down any harder on them. Of course, if anyone finds out something like that was kept a secret and punishment wasn't handed out, it will look a whole lot worse.

But then, she was willing to take that risk, which Arthur is rather upset with. Elizaveta isn't one to cut corners for personal gain. Well either way, even though that _had_ been her plan, it went out the window when that loudmouth mom came in screaming and throwing a fit, and her son was whisked off to the doctors...leaving Arthur with all the paperwork from the aftermath. He's pretty sure that isn't in his job description, but whatever his job is, it's on the line, which doesn't leave him with much of a choice.

He has to file papers, send messages to the school board (which is rather nerve wracking if he's to be perfectly honest) and worst of all, let Alfred's dad know what had happened and that his son is responsible...by email though since Alfred's contact information has no phone number listed (Arthur will have to fix that next time they meet). It makes actually relaying the message much easier due to the lack of confrontation, yes, but it also means that he's stuck constantly _waiting _and refreshing his e-mail for the reply. He had tried to phrase it nicely, but how nice can you possibly be when saying: '_Hey, just wanted to let you know that your beloved child and all you have left at home turned into a little monster and pulverized a freshman half his size for no good reason. By the way, the kid had to go to the hospital and the mother is out for blood, but anyway, I hope everything is going okay and that I'll hear from you soon. Byebye!' _

Okay, so maybe he's exaggerating just a _bit, _but if you read between the lines of the e-mail, that's what it boils down to. Normally, he kinda hopes his trouble makers will be given some major punishment from their parents. It would do them some good, but Alfred is a good kid. Yeah, he had been stupid: really _really _stupid, but he honestly _is_ a good kid. Truth be told, Arthur's probably more nervous for Alfred in regard to this whole situation than Alfred is himself.

Which is why, after hours, the sun having set long ago, Arthur is completely exhausted and left with a nasty headache.

Roderich, the schools music teacher, seems to think that now would be a good time to knock an entire cart of cymbals over from down the hall in the music room. Even from the front lobby, on his way out the door to go back to his lovely home, the sound is almost deafening and makes his head throb.

Arthur looks down at his hand on the handle, groaning internally. His warm home with an actual ceiling that _doesn't _leak and real furnishings and walls that have color and no cracks and….he really should go help the poor guy before leaving, shouldn't he?

Sighing, he turns away from the door and walks through the school to the music room: one of the only rooms in the school whose light is still on. Light spills out from the open door, illuminating the dim hallway that would otherwise be pitch black.

"Roderich?" Arthur asks, poking his head in through door and only remembering to knock half-heartedly a few seconds later.

"Hello."

Arthur jumps, not having seen the music teacher buried underneath a pile of metal percussion instruments. "Er...need some help there?" he asks, scratching the back of his head. This is, all things considered, a rather uncomfortable situation and he doesn't know quite what to do.

"That would be great," Roderich replies, beginning to push cymbals off of him and pull his foot out from underneath a huge timpani drum.

Arthur jogs over and slides some of the instruments off, a tambourine and a triangle ringing loudly on the tile, so that he can help the teacher back onto his feet.

The teacher brushed his pants off, which has acquired a disturbingly thick layer of dirt and dust (though the janitors supposedly cleaned all of the rooms after school, Arthur has yet to see it actually happen).

"So, uh… what's going on in here?" Arthur asks. A music teacher doesn't really have any reason to stay after school this late, and Arthur can't imagine why he would choose to do so of his own free will.

"Rearranging the room," Roderich answers simply. "I think that the acoustics would be better if we angled the chairs that way," he says, pointing to the far wall. "But that means that we'll have to move the instruments out of the way to this side of the room."

Arthur looks around. The music room, with it's just barely vaulted ceiling (yet the same plaster bricks as the rest of the school) is in much better condition than his office, which is original to the school. He's pretty sure that this room had been added later on.

"Ah, I see. Well I'd best off- wait..._we?"_

"Yes," Roderich says, half out of breath as he heaves a heavy case up and slides it onto a rolling cart. "Now pull this over there, would you?"

Arthur feels like smacking his head against the wall...over and over and over again. Why? Why him? He's been a generally good person, hasn't he? He just wants to go home!

Nevertheless, he complies. After all, though Arthur tells himself he's surely helping him purely out of the goodness of his own heart, Roderich _is _his boss's husband. It makes everything rather complicated. Elizaveta assures everyone that their marriage plays no role in who will be cut and who will maintain a position at the school, that work and their love life are kept completely separate, but the staff knows better. Arthur, as a psychologist, knows better than anyone. Work and home, especially after all the years they spent teaching and one being the other's boss, have melded together until they are virtually inseparable.

And, despite the whole "save the arts" campaign, everyone also knows that the arts are the first to go...except when it comes to Roderich, who may or may not be aware of the seething hatred from some of the other teachers (seriously, they form cliques and gossip like they think they're in a high school Hollywood movie!). Arthur isn't quite sure _what_ he thinks of the guy… a bit strange and pretentious undoubtedly, but overall respectable. Still, Arthur thinks as he hauls a cymbal onto another cart, it's rather annoying knowing that he could lose his job, that he deserves perfectly well, over this snob.

It's then that the strap on the cymbal he's holding decides to snap, smashing into the tile with another loud crash.

"Ah. Sorry about that." Roderich walks over and bends down to pick it up, initially fumbling to get his fingers under the edge. "I'll fix that." He goes up to the podium and grabs a role of neon red electrical tape, wrapping it around the severed ends. His tendency to try to cheaply fix things rather than replace them used to be quite annoying, though with the lack of money, it has come in handy lately. "Do you think you could help me re-tape the straps as well, Arthur?"

Arthur sighs, dropping his head down to his shoes when the other teacher's back is turned. "No problem, Roderich."

Cheap or not- neon _red?_

* * *

When all is said and done, it's long past dinner-time. But will fate let Arthur just go _home _already?

Of course not.

Just as he is nearing the front lobby, Elizaveta calls him into her office. For one crazy moment, he almost has the audacity to say heck no and continue on out the door to his car.

Then the meaning of his boss's words finally registers.

Oh. _Oh! _

Arthur feels all the blood drain out of his face. Sure, he has been at better schools and dealing with the kids can be exhausting, but Arthur likes his job!

What choice does he have but to follow Elizaveta numbly into the into the front office, though? He wonders absently if this is what his students feel like when they've been called to come talk to _him_, but finds no humor in the irony.

Elizaveta's heels click down the hall toward the individual offices, the sound bouncing off the empty walls mockingly.

Arthur almost stops when she walks right past her own office and stops in front of his own instead. He's dumbfounded for a moment before realizing that she's waiting for him to unlock his office door.

"Oh, sorry," he mutters, digging into his pocket for his key chain, complete with keys for his car, house, garage, storage shed, and on the very end, his office key: worn thin by use. Still, it works, though Arthur is worried it will just snap in the lock and get stuck one of these days. Can Elizaveta really be planning on firing him in his own office?

"Well...come in I guess, " he chokes out finally, holding open the door.

"Thank you," she says quietly, stepping in and sitting down at the circular table. She seems to be surveying the room with a frown, not that anybody can blame her. Arthur takes his usual seat across from the table, finding it rather odd to see his boss in the same seat where his trouble making students typically sit... aside from Alfred who prefers to drag up a chair and sit in it at an awkward angle.

"Calm down Arthur; you look like you've just seen a ghost. I didn't call you in here to fire you."

Arthur instinctually lets out a sigh of relief, making Elizaveta smile halfheartedly down at her hands.

"Well then what brings you here?"

She sighs, propping her forehead up on her hands and her elbows on the table. "Honestly, I came for advice, and well, you _are _the psychologist."

"Oh." Arthur sits back in his chair, stunned. He's honestly at a loss. Even though the students' problems are often just as serious as an adult's (Alfred being a good example), they're normally much simpler, and considering that the students are younger and he's in charge, it's much easier to instruct them. But this is his _boss _for crying out loud!

"What is it you need help with?" he asks calmly.

Elizaveta bites her lip and averts her eyes for a moment, seeming to debate whether or not she should actually say. "The school board is making me cut another staff member by the end of the semester."

"I see," he answers numbly. "And if you don't?"

She weaves her fingers around a pencil idly, never quite looking up. "They'll pick someone _for _me. More pay cuts. Looks bad for the entire school, not to mention that I'll lose my job…and they don't want to lose anymore core class teachers."

Arthur sighs. "I see," he said again. No core class teachers...leaving only elective teachers, and the other non- teachers. The elective teachers they can't get rid of would be the spanish teacher, since the class is a college requirement, as well as gym. Their art teacher has already been let go. And they can't really get rid of the non teachers. They need a janitor to keep the school from getting (more) rat infested or a house full of puke puddles, plus the counselor has to make schedules for the students and point them toward college scholarships and volunteer opportunities. The principal is definitely out of the question...leaving just Arthur and Roderich.

That realization must show on his face, because Elizaveta looks up and says "I know."

"Well…" Arthur's mouth hangs open just a bit. He's at a total loss for words. "I really don't know what advice I could give." Elizaveta nods, seeming to have anticipated that answer. Arthur clears his throat to continue. "But I could never ask you to do something that will interfere with your marriage."

Elizaveta looks down again, her hair hanging down and hiding her face from view. Arthur wonders if she's actually on the verge of tears. Though he does see her as his boss, the two have become somewhat close friends over the years.

"I couldn't do that to Roderich. You know that." Arthur nods slowly. If anything, he appreciates the honesty. "Gosh, I wish we never took jobs at the same place," she goes on.

Arthur can do nothing but sit and listen.

"But you're an asset to this school, Arthur….and don't try to deny it. Plus, if you don't mind me saying, with your current financial situation, I couldn't fire you either."

Both are silent for a long minute. Arthur choses to ignore the comment about his income. No, he doesn't have a whole lot, though he's not in any real financial danger at the moment either. "That leaves you in a difficult position then." He concludes.

"It does," she sighs, finally looking up. Indeed, her eyes are rimmed in red. "I don't know what I was expecting, maybe some sort of miraculous epiphany?" she frowns. "Either way, thanks for listening...and sorry for wasting your time. I knew this was pointless but-"

"Anytime."

She sniffs once, nods, and with that leaves the office, closing the door quickly behind her.

Arthur just stares at wall. Well this is certainly a new plot twist. Despite being exhausted, he no longer has the will to get up from his desk to go home.

His phone starts beeping in his pocket: alerting him of a new email, but he doesn't bother to look at it. He just keeps staring at the wall. That old, beautiful plaster wall.

Sorry that there was no Alfred in this chapter, but I needed to get the parts about Arthur and his job out, and putting both aspects of the plot (which will come together, I promise!) just wasn't working for me this time around. There will be plenty of Alfred in upcoming chapters, though (and yes, the email at the end was from Alfred's dad). ;)

I really hope that you all liked this chapter and thank you to everyone who read, liked, followed, and reviewed. Even a short little comment means the world, so thank you so much! (and constructive criticism is always sought after).

To the past reviewers (in order of when they were left):

Guest: Thank you so much! I hope you've enjoyed these last few chapters.

Just obsessed: I know! :'( Unfortunately things might get a bit worse for these guys before it gets better, but I can tell you that I plan to end this happily.

EverNightlands: Thanks a ton! I have a basic plan for the plot but I haven't figured it out completely yet.

Guest: Thanks; I'll try to update as often as possible. :)

Rosemary 1234: You have no idea how great it is to hear something like that! Thank you! I hope the end of this fic can do the plot justice.


	5. Thanksgiving

"Relax lad, it's the last day before Thanksgiving break. Would coffee or something help? There's a coffee maker in the break room; I could give you the key."

"Umm, yeah sure...thanks."

Arthur nods and pulls his keys off the top of the file cabinet, struggling and almost breaking a nail trying to slide the right one off of the key ring before just giving up and tossing the whole thing to Alfred. Alfred raises his eyebrows in question, prompting a shrug from the psychologist. He trusts him not to run off with his car. It's before school and the two are waiting for a conference with Alfred's father.

Alfred has been a bit jumpy and high strung this morning, even more so than usual. Arthur shouts a quick "make sure it's decaf!" as Alfred slips out of the room, though he probably doesn't hear him. He isn't quite sure _why_ the kid is being so jumpy. Well, that is aside from getting in a whole heap of trouble. But does that really constitute Alfred riding the bus to school rather than just going with his dad, who is driving to the same place at the same time? Not to mention that he has yet to breathe while waiting for his dad's arrival: as in an actual deep breath that fills up the entirety of both lungs. Arthur has no idea what animal Alfred's trying to mimic with that frantic panting. His father actually sounded quite nice...then again, you can only gather so much about someone from the text of an email.

Of course, a child's reaction speaks volumes.

He's startled out of his thoughts by a soft knock at his office door.

"Oh so _now_ you decide to knock?" Arthur jokes.

After a moment of hesitation, the old doorknob turns (with a rather unpleasant sound) to reveal a tall man, unmistakably Alfred's father: blond hair (albit a bit darker with some grays), big eyes, the same nose... Really, if you just added a cowlick, the two could be twins...twins that are twenty-something years apart.

"Oh, erm-" Arthur scrambles to organize things and look professional, knocking a mug off the desk (thankfully almost empty and plastic) in the process. "Sorry sir; I wasn't expecting you."

The man raises his eyebrows. "It _is_ 8:15. That's the time we agreed on, is it not?"

"It- It is sir" Arthur is beginning to see where Alfred is coming from. "It's just that your son went to get coffee from the break room. I simply assumed it was him returning."

"Ah." A slight look of unease passes over the father's face, and understandably, too. The thought of Alfred hyped up on caffeine isn't the most...pleasant thought out there.

Both of them sit around the office, looking anywhere but each others eyes in a fashion that can only be described as completely and utterly awkward. Mr. Jones glances around the room and frowns. Arthur knows what he thinks about the "office" already. He thinks it too. In fact, having any sort of serious conference in here is absolutely mortifying. Alfred slips in a moment later, gripping a steaming styrofoam cup of what smells like, and judging by the tiny petrified marshmallows, indeed is, hot chocolate (typical). His presence only adds to the tension in the room. He not-so-quietly sits down in his dented folding chair in the back corner.

"No Alfred, come sit over here with us." instructs.

Alfred lowers his eyes to his drink and pulls the chair up to the table with a heavy metal-on-tile grating sound, taking his usual seat next to the built-in chairs on the cafeteria table.

"_At _the table, Alfred."

Alfred grudgingly picks himself up out of his favorite chair, shooting his father a look when his back is turned, and slides into the bench seat, keeping his shoulders hunched and as 'to himself' as he can get.

"Ah...well…" Arthur clears his throat. "Mr. Jones." Both people sitting across from Arthur look up, each trained to respond to ' .' Arthur looks from one set of eyes to the next, suddenly unsure of which he was addressing.

"I um… I trust you know what happened yesterday morning."

Alfred's father nods gruffly. "Unfortunately."

"Well," Arthur pushes the computer screen, now back on the table, toward his two visitors, showing them the array of e-mails that resulted from the aftermath. Mr. Jones raises his eyebrows and looks down at his son condescendingly. Alfred shrinks visibly.

"Now, the school board, per protocol, has been contacted about this and so far you won't be held accountable for anything as far as the school is concerned." Arthur _may_ have slipped a word or two in about Alfred's situation. More head nodding. "But if the mother of the other student decides to take action, then,well... I'm afraid there's nothing we can do."

"But nothing yet?" Mr. Jones asks to clarify.

"No, nothing yet."

"Is that it then?" he asks after a brief pause, seeming a bit confused as to why he's been called in for such a short conversation. Alfred, in a word, looks hopeful.

"Well...no. It's our job to help with any problems the children might be going through. The question that remains is why Alfred did what he did, especially since we all know him to be such a good kid."

Alfred shoots the psychologist a look of childish betrayal, seeming to scream that the conversation could have been done with! "I already told you why," the student mutters.

Mr. Jones' eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and maybe a bit of..._betrayal?_ "Did you now?"

Alfred nods slowly.

"Would you mind repeating it?"

Alfred groans. "_Dad! _It really doesn't matter."

Arthur opens his mouth to prompt him again, but holds up a hand for the psychologist.

"Alfred," he says, "can you step out for a moment please?"

"Gladly." Alfred grabs his bookbag and swings it on top of his shoulder, wordlessly leaving the room.

Mr. Jones looks up as the door clicks shut and Arthur gulps. Just what's going on!? "Okay, listen," the parent says. "He told you what's been bothering him?"

"Slightly," Arthur answers, squirming uncomfortably. "He wouldn't get into any details."

"Still...I trust it was about my wi- his mother, was it not?"

Arthur nods slowly. "I trust it was. He said-"

Mr. Jones cuts him off again, holding a hand up. "I don't want to know what he said. I mean-" he covers half of his face with a hand, "I _do_, but he won't tell me. I don't know why he's telling _you," _The note of jealousy isn't concealed well. "But if he doesn't want to tell me...I guess I'll have to respect his privacy. Whatever you're doing...just keep doing it, alright?"

Arthur sits, shocked for a moment. He had expected a lot worse from Alfred's dad...as in a _lot_ worse. For a moment there, he had been suspecting abuse. I mean, a kid as on edge as Alfred was, coupled with a father extremely upset (and at a first glance angry) that his son had told his school psychologist why he was upset? It isn't as if you could blame Arthur for the suspicion, but no. It seems as though the poor father just took it as a sign that he's doing something wrong.

"I will, sir...Well then." Arthur releases a breath, running a hand through his already unruly hair, "I suppose that's all in that case."

"Thank you," Mr. Jones says, nodding before exchanging goodbyes and slipping out to go to work, possibly making this the shortest meeting Arthur has ever had if the students who curse him out and storm away don't count.

Alfred stumbles back into the room, looking back to see his father leave and seeming rather confused. "What did you tell him?" It wasn't an aggressive or even blameful tone - rather one of someone who just had their innermost secrets dished out.

"Nothing. He wished to respect your privacy."

"Oh." Alfred sits and thinks for a moment, eyebrows gradually coming up. "Really?"

"Really," Arthur smirks.

"Well then...uh…" Oh if Arthur only had a dime for every awkward silence that takes place in this room.

"Alfred; I have to ask: why exactly were you so nervous about this conference with your dad? He _seems_ like a perfectly nice guy."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," Alfred seems to be stumbling over his words. "Yeah, he's great, really! It's just...I don't know. We're just not like that."

"Like what?"

"You know, all sappy and bleh and whatnot." He waves his hand in the air as if the explanation makes everything crystal clear. "Plus, my older brother," he goes on (and ah yes, Arthur remembers Matthew. Good kid, though the two never had a reason to meet) "he's at an ivy league-" Alfred pauses abruptly, looking critically at Arthur for a good long moment. "I don't know why I'm telling you this," he states, standing up. "I've got to get to class."

Arthur drops his head down and sighs. So close! In all truth though, the bell is going to ring any second. "Maybe later then? You'll be back here in a few hours."

Alfred smirks: the kind of sarcastic, cynical smirk that you never want to see from a sixteen year old. "We'll see."

He takes that as a resounding no.

* * *

Well this Thursday over break turns out to be rather depressing.

Perhaps not, after all, he has a day off and gets to watch a parade and half a dog show on TV (relative deprivation, perhaps?) before figuring that even if the neighbors he usually celebrates this holiday with with have moved away, he can still celebrate with a nice dinner he'll cook (or burn) by himself. Of course, that requires a trip to the grocery store (that is if he can even find one that's open). He must have driven for forty minutes and every single one of them are closed or had closed earlier.

Thanksgiving revolves around food these days! It just doesn't make sense to have all of the stores with food close (and don't even get him _started _on the black Friday lines that had begun forming the previous night.) But, as he's driving around aimlessly, who else does he find walking along the side of the road but Alfred himself.

Arthur slows down his car to match Alfred's walking speed and pulls over slightly.

"Erm... Alfred… are you okay?"

Alfred, who has begun to inch away from the strange car and pull his hood up, probably imagining all sorts of kidnapping scenarios, squints at him, startled.

"Mr. Kirkland? What are _you_ doing here?"

Arthur chuckles. "I could say the same for you, too. Shouldn't you be off celebrating with your family right now?"

Alfred shoots him a sad smile. "Nah. My dad has to work 24/7 and Mattie got snowed in up north."

"I see." Arthur frowns, applies the brakes fully, and leans over to throw the passenger side door open. "Come on then."

Alfred looks skeptical, but still clambers in unsteadily. "Why? Where are we going? I'm allowed to go out and walk around; you don't have to take me home."

"We're going to get dinner. Now hurry up and close the door; it's cold!"

"Alright, alright," Alfred grumbles, shutting the door and trying to untangle the seat belt. "Isn't there some law against teachers driving students or something?"

"Probably," Arthur answers nonchalantly as he pulls out into traffic. "So shh!" Arthur does NOT need this on his record, considering his current position at the school.

"Fine, fine. Where are we going, though?"

"Don't know." Arthur frowns. "What's open?"

"Ummmm…" Alfred thinks. "I think I saw a Cracker Barrel back there." He points toward the back windshield with his thumb.

"Cracker Barrel? Really? I thought that was more of a breakfast place."

"I don't know," the student shruggs. "I haven't been there in a long time."

"Well then," Arthur says, signaling and checking over his shoulder to make an (illegal) u-turn. "Cracker Barrel it is."

* * *

As it would turn out, the restaurant _does_ have things other than eggs and grits...as well as a long wait. Well, it's not a wait so much as slow service, which Alfred seems to resent, seeing as that his psychologist is berating him with an endless assault of questions in an effort to get him to open up again. Alfred in frustration, looking outside and wishing himself out of his present situation. _Maybe_ if he wishes hard enough, he'll just dissapear out of force of will.

"Hey; look Mr. Kirkland!" Alfred half shouts suddenly, pointing outside.

Arthur looks out the window to find what the kid is so excited about, because it can't possibly be the long row of rocking chairs in front.

But, and somehow he'd missed it before, there is a chess set outside: one of the huge ones where the ground is painted in checkers and the pieces are plastic and hollow and come up to the thigh. This one looks like it has been here for...a while. The paint is faded and chipped to the point where you have to squint to see it, the pieces have had all of their more detailed features scraped off long ago, and he's was pretty sure some of the pieces are missing altogether. No matter.

"Come on, lets go!" Alfred yells, grabbing Arthur by the arm and nearly dragging him out of his chair.

"But our food!"

"It's early for dinner anyway!" the teen shouts, persisting.

"But it's literally freezing outside!"

"Oh well!" Arthur groans. Clearly, he's not going to win this one and reluctantly gets up to follow.

"Alfred," he asked quietly, putting a hand on the student's shoulder as they opened the door and ducked their heads against the cold.

"I need to know," he takes a breath, "and please answer honestly: what's with the chess all the time? I mean...you were against it at first." Alfred pauses, and Arthur can see that wall in his eyes waver. "Come on."

Alfred exhales. "Because I need someone to talk to."

Great. One question answered and three more created. Best not to push him, but… "Why do you need to be playing chess to talk to someone?"

Alfred makes a displeased sound somewhere in the back of his throat, but seems to realize that there's no point in crawling back into his shell now. "I don't know. I suck at chess, but it just feels like... aw forget it."

"No. Go on."

Alfred sighs again and stops walking. "It feels like people, especially a certain _psychologist, _are analyzing me whenever I try to say something about… _you know. _But when I'm playing… it just feels like two people playing a game of chess rather than a therapy session."

Arthur nods. That's been what he's looking for. Nevermind the fact that every insight Alfred has let slip has _not _been while they're playing chess; if Alfred feels as though it's easier to talk while playing, then so be it.

"I understand. You do know that you can come and talk whenever though, right?"

Alfred nods, seeming withdrawn again. He steps forward, setting up the chess pieces that the wind has blown over. "But right now, it's your turn."

* * *

It's been three weeks. Three weeks since I updated! Unacceptable! I don't usually get writers block, but I _did!_ Well, that being said, I hope that this chapter was okay. said I would try to update every week, and this took three. Would two be a good compromise? Maybe? I'd love to update every week, but what with my own original writing and a crazy workload, I don't think that's possible at the moment. How would you all feel about a chapter with Canada in it and maybe a sadder chapter?

Have any of you been to Cracker Barrel? I rarely ever see them, but I've been to a few and they're pretty neat places. Anyway, thank you to each and every one of you who have reviewed, followed, read, and favorited. If able to, any reviews or constructive criticism really means the world to me and motivates me to write. And to my chapter four reviewers (and I apologize for my excessive use of exclamation marks and emoticons ahead of time):

Impressed - Don't worry, your review made sense, and thank you so much! Yeah, I've never been a huge fan of the gakuen hetalia stories, although there are a few really well done ones out there. I hope that the characters remain relatable, and thanks again for such a detailed review!

\- Thanks! I really like the brotherly/fatherly stories too. :) I'm working on planning out the rest (I already have most of the final idea) which should really get into that soon.

AnomalousThinker - Oh thank you, and I'll update whenever I get the chance. :) I'm working on grammar, but if you see/saw an error that I kept making, please let me know! :)

Guest - Thank you! I'm already working on more chapters!

LightningPage - Thanks a million! And the next few chapters should (with one or two exceptions) definitely be focusing more so on Alfred. I'll do my best to keep the updates coming. :)

Blubble - Thanks, and I certainly hope that most schools are better than this! I can definitely sympathize with most types of schools I've been at the better ones and the… not so good ones (to put it nicely). Let me tell you that thousands of kids and no nurse = disaster!


	6. Lunch

Fear not! I did not abandon this! I've been focusing on updating past chapters this week. I'm pretty sure I've already said this, but I write on here to improve my own original writing, which is present tense. So, to get practice, I'm changing this from past to present tense. Since I've been spending my time working on a lot of editing, this chapter is PATHETICALLY short! I wasn't even planning on writing this, but I couldn't keep you all waiting another week, so I whipped this up.

Thanks to everyone who read, liked, followed, and reviewed! :D :D :D Your responses are the best!

disney-hp-freak: Why thank you! No idea why I picked cracker barrel XD. It was just the first thing that popped into my head. And yeah, I get the whole summer job thing. Hopefully you'll find a great one this coming summer if you work then. :)

Listenerofshadows: Thank you so much! I love the places where you can order breakfast around the clock. Sometimes you just want scrambled eggs, even if it is seven pm. There was one time I got one left in that peg game. One of the single greatest moments of my life… Anywho, thank you so much! :D I'm planning the ending out now, so updates should (should!) run a little smoother from here on out.

N92.9141b: Thank yooou! Glad to know that this story provides a bit of variety. I had never heard of the term BrOTP before; it's awesome! :) Is that a common term? Anyway, I hope you like the next few chapters. :)

* * *

Mondays are never the most popular days at school. They just generally tend to be glum and, well, _Mondayish. _Even the cafeteria food. The students had long ago taken to calling the weekly beef tetrazzini special "mystery meat monday." Arthur has to laugh at their antics sometimes.

Truthfully, he doesn't think the school food is half bad. He personally prefers to microwave a frozen meal in the teacher's lounge and take it back to his office, but he forgets once in a blue moon and is forced into the cafeteria for lunch.

Today though, he remembers and takes his food into the cafeteria anyway. He needs to see Alfred, and _now. _He's quite upset with the little skipper right now.

It takes a moment to find the kid amid all the hustle and voices and neon school club T-shirts so bright they could give someone a seizure just by being in the same room with them all.

But eventually he finds him. The honey colored cowlick is hard to miss, after all. He's sitting alone at one of the long tables with stools as legs. It seems as though most of Arthur's desk's friends have been retired, aside from a few circular tables near the lunch counter.

"Alfred!" Arthur shouts just as the student goes to take a swig of lemonade, approaching him from behind. Alfred jumps, choking on his drink and immediately doubles over in a coughing fit.

Arthur just stands there, arms crossed and foot tapping, waiting for him to finish coughing so that he can reprimand the student until he realizes that, _oh crap, _that lemonade _really_ took a nosedive into Alfred's lungs.

"Hey. Hey; you okay, kid?" Arthur crouches down by him, patting his back firmly.

Alfred just nods, unable to speak. His face is beet red and even turning a purplish color if his eyes are picking up the light correctly.

"Are you sure?" Arthur asks, starting to panic now. If someone can talk, breath, or cough, you're not supposed to do anything, right? Right?

Alfred gives him a thumbs up, but squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead to the table, still coughing, as people start to shoot glances their way. Arthur looks on guiltily, patting his back in a hopeless attempt to help.

Eventually, the coughs turn into frantic gasps, which die down into heavy breaths. Alfred picks his head up off of the table, though he still looks like he's holding back extra coughs and is a bit red.

"Don't sneak up on me." he whispers.

Arthur holds his hands up and frowns. "Sorry about that. You're okay now?"

"Mmhmm." Alfred wipes his mouth on his sleeve, not bothering with the napkin on his tray. "Why are you _here_ anyway? I thought you never left that old office of yours." he looks around conspicuously, checking to make sure if his friends are within viewing sight of all this.

"Why _haven't you_ been in my office during your free period for the past two school days?" Arthur counters.

"Hey! I was sick Friday! Bug off."

Arthur scoffs. "Don't pull that one; I saw your attendance sheet. You were most definitely here."

"I was _here. _I still felt dead, though. Fell asleep in the library."

Arthur narrows his eyes but supposes he'll let it slide. "And today?"

He sighs. "Do I really have to come _every _day?"

Arthur furrows his eyebrows, hurt. He was starting to think that Alfred enjoys coming. "That was what we planned."

"No..." Alfred finishes chewing and points his spoon (although, really, a fork would be better suited for beef tetrazzini) at Arthur's chest. "No, that was what _you _planned."

Oh for heaven's sake, couldn't _something _go right today? "Alfred, we both know that if it were up to you, it would wind up with the two of us playing chess anyway."

"Only we would talk," he says back through a mouthful of cheesy pasta and meat. Arthur cringes.

"We do talk."

"No; _I _talk. _You _analyze."

Arthur groans into his hands, which he's propped up on the table. "Fine. Fine. If you'll just come tomorrow, you're in charge."

"Yes!" Alfred pumps a fist in the air, leaving the psychologist with the sinking feeling that this was planned all along.

Suddenly, alfred tenses up, glancing at a group of young teens making their way closer, then over at Arthur.

Arthur smirks. It's alright; he speaks high schooler. He was one, once upon a time, after all. "Don't worry. You don't have to be seen with me. No hard feelings."

He grabs his lunch and starts walking back to his office, but not before ruffling Alfred's hair good naturedly and hearing the indignant "_Mr. Kirklaaand!" _in response.

Music to his ears.

* * *

So a couple of things:

First, like I said at the top, this chapter was never in the plan (although I'm really glad that I got to write it!), and I've been putting my time into editing rather than writing. The editing shouldn't take too long, but in the meantime I apologize for the delay.

Also, I've been thinking about starting another multi-chapter fic. Have any of you ever seen the movie _Surf's Up? _Well it was on the other night and I couldn't help but think of the plot with Hetalia characters inst. I could totally see Seychelles or Belgium being in a story like this, too.

On a note of the story, has that ever happened to you? Where you breathe something in and are coughing so hard you can barely get any air and it never seems to end? It's horrible.

Also (and I promise I'm not trying to start WW III) but do you see the dress as blue and black or white and gold? :D


	7. In Charge

Lightning Page: Thank you so much! It's great knowing that I have such dedicated readers. And don't worry, my friend sees pale blue and gold, too. It sounds pretty! (although I'll never be able to see it like that :P)

dozefallsdownthestairs: Thank you so much! I'm a huge fan of your writing.

Awkward Reviewer: Thanks for pointing those things out, I'll try to get them fixed soon (and don't worry- your review doesn't sound awkward. :) )

* * *

"Please, sit down," Alfred says in the most high-class, authoritative tone he can muster as they step into Arthur's office.

Arthur rolls his eyes.

"I said you would be in charge of todays meeting, _not_ that you would be my boss."

"Taking an attitude today, are we Kirkland?" Alfred clucks his tongue in disapproval and shakes his head. "Keep that up, and I might just have to refer you to the principal. Is _that really _what you want, now?" It's obvious to anyone that he's struggling to keep a straight face and biting the inside of his cheek.

"Oh please. When have I ever said that to you? And your accent is awful, by the way." Arthur sits down in his spot at the desk.

"No, sir. Move." Alfred commands, still sticking with the accent.

Arthur looks up incredulously. Alfred simply stands there, arms crossed, and waits for Arthur to move to the student's seat so that he can sit where the psychologist normally does. "_Alfred!" _he grumbles, but scoots over begrudgingly anyway, allowing Alfred, who folds his hands in front of himself and sits up straight in mimicry, to take his seat. "Are you going to be at least _somewhat_ sensible today?"

Alfred feigns surprise. "Me? But Arthur Kirkland is always sensible."

"Knock it off," Arthur growls, though he doesn't really mind all that much. After all, mimicry is the sencierest form of flattery. Unless of course, the person doing the mimicing is just straight up making fun of you. After a moment of hesitation, he adds "and if I _ever_ refer to myself in the third person, slap me."

Alfred breaks character and chuckles. "Alright, alright. And you've got yourself a deal on the slapping thing."

Arthur allows a small smile to slip onto his face. "So are we going to play chess or not?"

Alfred's eyes flick over to the chess set - currently on display aop of the file cabinet, little marble pieces glinting in the yellow fluorescent light. "Not."

Arthur raises his eyebrows and leans back. "I thought you said it was easier to talk when playing."

"It is," Alfred says with obvious distaste in the turn of the conversation. "But the fact remains that I don't need to talk."

"You do."

"I don't."

"And why do you think that?" Arthur asks calmly.

"Hey," Alfred chastises. "_My_ turn to ask the questions today, remember?"

Arthur groans.

"Why do _you _think that I need to talk?"

"Your grades," Arthur replies bluntly.

"Who says my grades have anything to do with my mom?"

"They were fine before; you're not going to graduate with your class as it stands now."

"My grades," Alfred goes on in a scarry calm tone, "is a separate issue."

"Alfred?" Arthur asks, gazing at his student after giving a moment for the kid's heart rate to go down. "If you'll let me ask just _one_ thing; what's the real reason you haven't been coming lately?" Arthur looks into Alfred's eyes: currently a steely blue as he debates internally. He just _knows_ that Alfred had been enjoying their last few visits. There has to be something else going on.

"I heard Mrs. Elizaveta in the hallway last week," Alfred finally says, as if that alone is supposed to reveal something.

Arthur raises his eyebrows, which draw together slightly. "I can't say I follow, Mr. Jones."

"She was talking to some administrator. Said that your position here depended on the performance of your students."

Arthur sucks in a breath, the words hitting him like an anvil in the chest. This is news. He doesn't control what his students do! He can open the door, sure, break it down even, but he can't make them walk through!

"You don't really care about me, just your job," Alfred continues. Right, kick a guy while he's down.

Arthur finally gets himself together, though his breath and pulse still sound unnaturally loud in his ears, and slides around the table to where Alfred sits with his mouth set in a grim line. "Alfred. I value my job. I'm not going to lie about that." He puts a hand on Alfred's shoulder. The student flinches, but more from surprise than unease. "But that will _never_ mean that I don't care...I happen to care about you a great deal, actually."

Alfred raises his eyebrows skeptically.

"I mean it!" Arthur glances to the side nervously and then pulls an unsuspecting Alfred in for a short, loose, and unimaginably awkward hug. "I'd like to think I'd come here even if I wasn't getting paid." He coughs and looks away again, uncomfortable while Alfred still looks shocked. "Listen, if you want to try just working on your grades and trying to sort everything else out yourself...I suppose you can. I can tutor you instead if you want."

"Really?" A huge grin spreads across Alfred's face.

"I said we'll _try. _But if you give me _any_ reason to think that isn't the best solution, we're doing things my way, okay?"

"Deal!"

Arthur laughs. "So now that that's settled, can I have my seat back?"

Alfred smirks deviously and pushes the psychologist playfully. "Not a chance."

* * *

So I have a pretty good idea of how I want the next chapters to go, but I must warn you that updates might take a bit longer. I have had so much to do lately in the real world that I've hardly had time to sleep, and on top of that, I'm also writing updates for another fic at the same time (On the Horse that Threw You, if your interested). On top of that, I'm not 100% sold on how some of the past chapters have turned out, so I'm still editing. Just wanted to give you a heads up. :) Any feedback and reviews would mean the world to me. Thank you to all of my readers!


	8. Honest

Okay, so before anything: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! I have never gotten such a large or enthusiastic response to a story before. When I checked, I saw that I got 10 reviews since chapter seven was posted, and this story was even added to a community!

Thank you _so so so so so _much to all of my readers!

And, to my latest reviewers:

LightningPage: Don't worry, I figured out who it was. :) And I'm so glad you like the chapter. I hope that this one will be just as good.

Amisa the Writer: Thank you, and I hope you enjoy. I just went back to edit, so hopefully I got all of those semicolons.

Marzue: Thank you so much! Reviews like yours make writing this so rewarding. And I'm not completely sure how many chapters there are going to be. If I had to guess now, I'd say around fifteen to twenty? That could easily change, though.

The Goliath Beetle: Thanks! I'm so happy to hear that you were able to connect to the story. And don't worry, the banter between these two will always be there, even as they get closer. :)

CJ Ruru: Thank you, and take your time. The sub-plot will definitely be unfolding and taking up a larger role in the story soon, so things will be getting interesting in a few more chapters. I'm sorry I had to take the dot out of your username. I have no idea why, but for some reason, every time I try to save this chapter in the doc manager with the dot, your whole username gets deleted? Hopefully it's a temporary issue.

LeFay Strent: Thanks, I _think _I took care of all the accidental Englands. And I'm so happy that you are able to expand on white I've written to really see the school! :D That poor goldfish, though…

FireFox Vixen: So glad to see that you've enjoyed reading.

Summer Leigh Winds: Thank you, I'm happy you like the interaction in the first chapter and that it wasn't too predictable. I hope you like the next few. :)

If you review and don't want to be mentioned, or if I forgot your review or spelled something wrong (for some reason certain usernames just won't paste into when I move my story over to the doc manager at first), just let me know.

* * *

"Um," Alfred says, actually sitting _at _the table today and looking down at his hands. "So don't take this the wrong way or anything, but I'm kinda failing psychology right now."

Arthur smirks. It's not that he enjoys Alfred's academic downfall _at all, _quite the opposite, but he always enjoys being useful, or maybe _valuable _would be a better term. "Well _that _is something I can certainly help you with." He'd been at a loss when it came to the trigonometry homework. "What area of psychology do you want to work on?"

"Umm," Alfred frowns, probably not understanding the question. "Well I got my psychology test back yesterday…"

Arthur nods. "Lets see it then."

Alfred hesitates and shoots his psychologist a look that clearly spells out 'sorry' before plunging his hand into his binder and rummaging around until he finds the test.

Arthur takes it and smooths it out on the table with the side of his hand. The test is a bit crumpled from it's few hours spent in the dump that is Alfred's binder, but still salvageable. He lets out a low whistle when he sees the number at the top of the test, circled in red marker. "Sixty-three."

Alfred shrinks a bit. "Yeah…"

"Okay." Oh, where to begin? "Lets start with your essay, shall we?"

"No!" Alfred dives accross the table and snatches the test back. "You can't read that."

"And why not?" Arthur frowns indignantly.

"You...you just can't, alright?"

Consider Arthur's interest peaked. Is he _in_ the essay? Is _that _why Alfred won't let him read it? He knows that this is childish before he even does it, but… "Alfred, I have to read it!" He lurches across the table and tries to take the test back.

"Nope!" Alfred jumps up, holding the test high above his head.

Arthur reaches up, swatting at it. Curse Alfred's height! He's only a few inches taller, but that means that the darn test is also a few inches above his reach. Unless...Arthur stands up on the chair to reach it, but Alfred jumps up just as quickly, once again making the test _just _out of reach. Curse that kid's inflated sense of privacy and fast reflexes as well!

Alfred's face smooths out into a serious, professional, and largely condescending expression. It doesn't suit him, especially not while he's standing on top of a cafeteria table seat and holding a paper over his head so that an adult can't reach it. "Are you almost done?"

It's only then that Arthur thinks about what this would look like if his boss walked in on them right now. He's acting more like a kid than the kids themselves. "Yes," he scowls, hopping down. "But why won't you let me see it?"

"Because it's _my _writing!" He looks down at the papers cradled in his arms, fingers brushing over them gently. "I just don't really like other people reading it, okay?"

Arthur sighs. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry. You could at least tell me what the prompt was so that we can go over it, though."

Alfred stares at him skeptically, judging.

"Oh for heaven's sake! How am I supposed to help you if you won't even tell me what the test is ab-"

"Unconditional positive regard."

"What?" Arthur tilts his head quizzically, like a dog given a foreign command.

"In the essay, we were supposed to explain the importance of receiving unconditional positive regard. I got a four out of nine."

Simple enough, Arthur wants to say, but bites his tongue in case it's a difficult concept for Alfred. No use in making him feel bad by saying that it's simple.

"So...do you know what an unconditional positive regard _is_?"

"Well yeah. I mean, I didn't BS the whole paper if that's what you mean."

Arthur smiles lightly. Papers are always better when the students actually know what they're talking about, but he's seen the art of writing multi-page essays on topics the student knows nothing about perfected down to a science. He's quite impressed with them them, truthfully. They're almost half-convincing. "Alright then, explain it to me."

Alfred squirms uncomfortably. "It's when someone is accepting and supportive of someone else regardless of what they do."

"Good!" A bit simplistic, but good. "So where did you run into trouble?"

"With the 'importance' part. It's stupid."

Oh boy. Yeah, that will definitely dock some major points. "I beg to differ." Arthur frowns. "Arguably, it's one of the most important parts of psychology...at least when it comes to therapy."

"Alright," Alfred says, pointing at him. "So lets say I'm a serial killer."

If Arthur had been drinking something, he would have either spit it out or choked on it. "_What?"_

Alfred holds his hands up. "Just bare with me for a second. So hypothetically speaking, I'm a serial killer and I get sent to you for therapy."

Please never let his career go there.

"So what are you supposed to say? 'Oh Alfred, don't worry. I support your serial killer-ness?"

"Killer-ness isn't a word."

Alfred gives him a look. "Not the point."

"Okay...geez, how do I explain this?" Alfred waits patiently. "So sticking with your serial killer scenario, I might accept it, but not condone it. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah?" Alfred says it in a tone that clearly means no.

"So do you remember two weeks ago? The incident with the freshman?" Arthur himself employed some unconditional positive regard there.

Alfred tenses. "If I say no, can we stick with the serial killer scenario?"

Arthur stays silent for a second. "I suppose so." Apparently mention of that incident is still taboo.

"Then no."

Arthur sighs. "Okay, so if you're a criminal and say that sometimes you just get angry and want to… oh I don't know, kick a puppy or something."

Alfred suddenly sits up straighter and squints at Arthur. "You're a psychopath."

"Hey!" He points the eraser-end of his pencil at Alfred. "This is _your _scenario we're working with here."

Alfred holds up his hands, palms forward. "Fine. Go on."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "So lets say you said _that _to me. I wouldn't say that kicking puppies is okay, but I wouldn't lower my opinion of you either. Instead, I might say that it's natural to want to lash out sometimes, and then we would work to redirect that impulse. If focuses more on the '_why' _than the '_what'._"

"But it's unnatural!"

"What do you mean?" Arthur frowns and reaches over to find and print off a brief, more detailed description of unconditional positive regard for Alfred from the computer.

"I mean, lets be honest here: people judge. There's no way around it."

"But your therapist shouldn't," Arthur interjects.

"Is my therapist human?"

"Well...yes."

"Then," Alfred says, sitting back, though not in an 'I-told-you-so' manner, "you judge."

"Hey." Arthur purses his lips. "I'm not _that _critical."

Alfred laughs aloud. "Please, Mr. Kirkland. You're one of the most critical people I know."

Arthur thinks back to all of their past sessions. Where did he go wrong? Maybe the years of dealing with the trouble-making (though trouble-making is putting it lightly) students has made him more callous and uncaring. His woeful introspection must show, because Alfred pipes up.

"Hey, don't worry about it. It makes you _authentic_, honest even! You'd be lying if you said you just accepted everything like that."

"Jones." Arthur shakes head, another small smile creeping onto his face as he hands the computer printout over. "Sometimes, you're too honest for your own good."

* * *

So if any of you are taking psychology right now, you got a little extra practice. ;) An unconditional positive regard, coined by psychologist Carl Rogers, is meant to help create a safe environment where someone can share something without feeling judged or like they're a bad person. And, though Alfred is correct in some aspects, there is a refreshing amount of people who really will accept everyone, even if they don't necessarily agree with them.

And, I'm like Alfred when it comes to writing. I get very nervous showing it to people I know well. Speaking of writing, though my writing style has been on a bit of a roller coaster lately, I am back and determined to make this fic the best story it can be! :) Thank you all for all of your continued support; it really keeps me motivated to write. I finished changing the rest of the chapters to present tense, but might go back and touch up the last chapter and 'Thanksgiving' some more. Otherwise, getting out more updates (so long as I don't have too much work to do, which, unfortunately is a huge probability :P) is taking a seat higher up on my priority list.

One more thing: I understand that this is college test season (SAT/ACT/AP/etc) for a lot of you, and if not, then finals must be coming up. So, should that be the case: take a deep breath and _RELAX_. Get some sleep the night before your tests and eat breakfast the morning of. If you're doing a college entrance test, know that you can retake it if you like (and if you're feeling unprepared, practice tests are a great way to improve). For finals, you've still got plenty of time to study (a little bit every day with breaks :) ) and when you're done, you're on vacation! So don't stress; you've got this!

Any feedback and reviews would be most appreciated! Thanks!


	9. Signatures

Thank you all so much for reading! Seriously, you all are the best!

Marzue: You have no idea how great it is to read something like that.! Thank you! And I'm happy to see that you liked the 'unconditional positive regard' bit. And trust me, I get it. When you have a whole book full of psychological terms like that, they get hard to remember. But, I'll try to slip a little psychology bits into the chapter or authors note from here on out. The community is Helpful Hetalia Corner Archives, by the way. :)

DaLantis: No problem. :) Glad to see that you liked chapter one.

Goliath Beetle: Thank you so much! I've been trying to balance out the 'serious' with the 'light-hearted' more lately, so it's great to see that it's working out.

Scarlett Wallflower: Thanks! Alfred was a surprisingly challenging character to write. Glad that he seems in character.

LeFay Strent: I guess the upside to being in a school with such a huge campus and student body (learning how to run a fifth of a mile against the crowd with an armful of textbooks in five minutes is an art we have all perfected) is having such a variety of classes to pick from. I'm glad you got to take psych and sociology in college, though, and that you enjoyed last chapter!

CJ Ruru: Oh, you'll love AP Psychology! I'll admit that among the more challenging classes, but by far one of the most interesting, especially when you get into the brain and neurobiology (not as hard as it sounds, I promise). I'm glad to see I'm not the only one who's picky about people reading my writing. It's weird how some people will let everyone read it, only their friends, only family and total strangers, etc. Hope you enjoy chapter nine!

* * *

Arthur stares at the student across from him: cheek pressed up against his textbook and softly snoring snoring. Arthur isn't _that _boring, is he?

"Alfred?" He leans across the table and lightly shoves Alfred in the shoulder.

The teen goans and swats Arthur's arm away without looking up.

"Alfred, this is school; you can't sleep here."

He lifts his head up and blinks blearily. "But this isn't a class," Alfred whines in a feeble attempt to protect his little nap.

"Consider it the class that's going to let you to pass all of your other classes."

Alfred blinks several times and sits up, trying to will himself into awareness.

Arthur furrows his eyebrows and pauses. The kid looks like death. "Are you okay? You're not sick, are you?"

"No." Alfred says hoarsely. "Just tired is all." He yawns. "I was up all night studying for an AP Bio test."

"Oh?" Arthur's eyebrows shoot up and he smirks. "What's with the sudden motivation?"

"I need four teachers to sign a permission slip to go on a field trip next week"

"Ah. And Mr. Kimburg wouldn't sign?"

Alfred shakes his head. "Still failing."

Arthur grimaces. "How do you think you did on the test?"

"Oh I know exactly how horribly I did on the test. Got it back ten minutes after I turned it in."

"He graded it already?"

Alfred nods, scowling. My, Arthur would have to step it up if he were to keep up with the other teachers' pace for getting work done.

"Well, lets see the test then. We'll work through it."

"You know biology?"

Arthur rolls his eyes, hands still outstretched. "Lets have _some _faith in me, now."

Alfred sighs and pulls his red binder onto his lap by the strap. The cloth is tearing in some places, mainly by the zipper and where the strap is sewn on. "Umm, lets see." He flips through all of the papers, notebooks, and old food wrappers stuffed up inside of it. The thing is more of a garbage dump than a place to put papers in, really. "Here it is."

Arthur takes it gently out of Alfred's hand. The paper, just like the previous test, looks like its been stuck in a junk drawer for several months rather than a few hours.

It's been stamped with a black seventy.

"Well, you didn't fail." Arthur offers lightly.

Alfred simply glares back up at him. "Might as well have"

Arthur frowns, placing the test down on the table. "Yes, I suppose that this isn't exactly what you were looking for to bring your grade up."

Alfred lays his chin down on the table again. It's It's not in a way that looks like he just wants to go to go back to sleep, though Arthur's sure thats that case as well, but its more of a completely exasperated, hopeless kind of look.

"Don't worry," Arthur smirks, sliding over to playfully elbow Alfred in the ribs. "We'll get there."

Alfred tries to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. "I guess."

"...You're just hung up on the fact that you can't go on that field trip, aren't you?"

"...Maybe."

Arthur rolls his eyes but can't help chuckling at that. _Kids. _"Well, maybe the next field trip then, right?"

"_Right," _Alfred says cautiously, suddenly eyeing him oddly, almost scanning him. "Say, I don't suppose that _you _would be able to give me that last signature... would you?"

Arthur swallows hard, eyes widening ever so slightly. "I- well I _could. _My signature would be _valid_ if that's what you're asking." He scratches the side of his neck nervously. "But I don't really know if that's the best idea, Alfred."

Alfred looks up at him with those big eyes, glassy from lack of sleep, looking shockingly similar to a kicked puppy. And Arthur thought he'd become immune to that look… It's one the younger students tend to pull a lot.

"Why not?"

Oh, he knows exactly why! He's going to make Arthur say it anyway, the little rascal. "Look, it's not that I don't want you to have fun, but if you miss class, you risk your grade coming further down. You can't take that chance."

Alfred stares at Arthur with a look halfway between a pout, and that of someone who's just been thoroughly insulted. "I'd work hard to make it up."

"Alfred-"

"I promise!"

"_Alfred!" _Alfred frowns at Arthur and crosses his arms, but nonetheless, Arthur has the student's attention. "Look. You're smart. You know it and I know it, so don't take this as a hit to your pride, but you _have _been working 'extra hard' and it hasn't yielded any results so far. So forgive me if I don't jump at the opportunity to jeopardize your education even further." He feels bad for the kid, honestly! But you know what? Some tough love could do him good.

Alfred lets out a huff of air and sets his chin down on his arms , folded across the desk again. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong," he mutters finally, eyes flicking up to meet the psychologist's. They're starting to look slightly bloodshot.

"Neither do I." Arthur sighs, wishing he could offer the kid some sort of magical solution and watch his grades fly up. He can't, though. If only...

"I don't know what more I _can _do." Alfred turns his head sideways so that his cheek is against his hands.

Arthur studies his student for a few long seconds. He's going to get sick at this rate. "You know what? For now, you still have fifty minutes before your next class to sleep."

Alfred raises an eyebrow in question.

"I suggest you don't waste it." It would probably be the best thing for him right now.

"Really?"

"Really," Arthur nods. The last thing he needs is Alfred collapsing on top of his work in Trig. That's all the permission Alfred needs, and he closes his eyes in an instant, barely managing to get out a "thanks" before his soft snoring fills the room again.

"Of course."

* * *

Three brisk knocks draw Arthur out of the world of paperwork. It's later in the afternoon, and the bell that will end the school day will sound at any moment. Arthur looks at the door quizzically.

"Come in!" He _really _doesn't want to counsel two students who got into a fight and will just yell over him and try to place blame on the other student, more often than not just ending up in another fight again, especially when he's so close to being able to go home. His mind mentally quits about a half hour before the bell rings at 3:30.

Elizaveta steps in, looking as professional as ever with her heels, knee-length pencil skirt, black blazer, and clipboard in hand.

"Ah, Elizaveta! Good afternoon."

"Afternoon," she responds briskly.

Arthur frowns. Though he and his boss definitely have a predominantly business relationship, they're still friends. Arthur still knows her well enough to see that this demeanor, the strictness and firm set of her jaw, can't mean anything good. "Is everything okay?"

"No, not particularly," she smiles sadly. "But when is it these days?"

Arthur nods. "Very true."

"Anyway," she sits down at the table bench. "I wanted to talk to you about Alfred."

"What of him?" Arthur purses his lips. Alfred is doing perfectly fine. He _is _improving, even if it's only in baby steps. It's better than nothing. He likes his boss, but some things just can't be rushed and happen when they happen. If she _dare_ chew him out because Alfred's grades aren't improving at breakneck speed-

"I see you signed his permission form?"

...What?

Elizaveta turns her clipboard toward Arthur. On top of pages and pages full of crisp, point eight font paperwork that Arthur thanks his lucky stars he doesn't have to file himself, sits a neon yellow permission form: slightly crumpled just like everything else in Alfred's binder. And the fourth signature down is a near perfect copy of Arthur's own. The little bugger forged his signature!

"I -I," Arthur stutters.

Elisaveta holds up a hand. "Look. I realize that you and Alfred are close. But, he needs to remain in class or risk failing. I had expected you to understand that."

But he _does _understand this! This is practically the same speech he gave to Alfred three hours ago!

"I don't have the jurisdiction to refute your signature myself, but I highly advise _you_ to cross it out," she says before leaning forward, looking him dead in the eye, and drifting from her 'I-mean-business' tone. "I've known you as long as I've worked here. I know you're a good worker whose judgement I can trust, but _you _know that the school board is breathing down my neck with cutting another job, as well as who I can and can't fire." Her eyes shine with an apology. "I know that we're all human, but mistakes make my decision that much easier." She shakes her head, seaming lost in thought for just a moment. "I just wanted to give you the opportunity to change this, and if so: it never happened to begin with."

"Gladly." Arthur never planned on signing it in the first place. It would be _this _easy to just tell her that his signature has been forged, but something stops him. This in combination with that fight before Thanksgiving would _not _look good for Alfred _or _his college applications (which he will have to get him to start filling out). Better Arthur deal with it himself, right? After all, he knows Alfred better. At least that's what he keeps telling himself. Besides, Elizaveta said that they'll pretend he never signed anyway, right?

He grabs a pen and swipes a clean line of deep blue ink across his so-called 'signature,' thinking angrily to himself that he already knows what the topic of tomorrow's meeting with Alfred will be about.

Still, underlying the anger, he can't help but be impressed by the little bugger's penmanship.

* * *

Uncomfortably long author's note: (sorry)

Okay, okay, a psychology lesson I can connect to this. Lets see… Okay, Alfred is tired so lets go with REM sleep and REM Rebound.

(WARNING: if you're not a total science nerd, this may bore you to death and you can just skip ahead ;) ) REM sleep, also called paradoxical sleep, is the fifth and final stage of the sleep cycle. The four previous ones (though I've seen stage three and four grouped together into one cycle in some assignments) tend to get into a deeper and deeper sleep, with stage four being the deepest "rest and repair" stage. Odd thing is, once you get to stage four, you don't move on to stage five. You go backwards through stage three and two before going into REM sleep (anything not REM sleep is called non-REM or NREM) and the entire sleep cycle repeats multiple times throughout the night, each stage becoming longer each time. REM stands for rapid eye movement, which is exactly what happens. Your eyes move rapidly beneath your eyelids, yet acetylcholine, or ACH, a neurotransmitter required for muscle contraction, is cut off so that the rest of your voluntary muscles are paralyzed. Though your body can't move at all in this stage, your brain activity is actually very similar to that of when you're awake (hence the nickname 'paradoxical' sleep). Because of this, our most real and vivid dreams are in REM sleep. We need REM sleep, and when we don't get enough sleep over the course of several days, we will experience REM Rebound when we finally can sleep for a while. Our body tries to make up for the lack of REM sleep by making our REM stages occur more frequently and for longer periods of time. People with Narcolepsy, a condition in which someone may suffer from sudden "sleep attacks" often are very tired due to REM sleep regulation not working correctly, and can fall directly into REM sleep while forming normal day-to-day tasks, so you can see how starting out by going into stage one when you're tired: where you're kind of out of it but more or less still aware, and not falling directly into REM sleep, is actually important. The _deeper_ restorative NREM sleep (as in stage four) is important too. More active people will get more NREM sleep to fix up and rest the body from all of its activity.

And my lesson is finally over! I'll be going back and putting little psych lessons in past chapters, too. (If you want to take a look, google PsychSim 5e. It's a great interactive tool for learning psychology concepts and has helped me so much). Contrary to what a lot of people seem to think, therapy is but a very small part of psychology. Out of sixteen chapters in a year long course, only one chapter, taking up about one and a half weeks, was on therapy. Let me know if you like the therapy-type mini-lessons or the biology-type ones better :) Biology (especially neuro) is where I really shine and I could go deeper into the more complicated stuff, but as you can see, once I start talking about that, there's _no_ shutting me up.

On the note of the story, don't be too mad at Elizaveta. She's just stressed and her marriage life, friend life, and social life have all melted together into one big ball, and she really doesn't know what to do. I wanted to focus a bit more on Alfred, but I had to get this school stuff in somewhere. I've got to admit that this chapter wasn't exactly up to the standard I wanted it to be at, but it's been too long since I've updated and I suppose I can go back to edit in a bit.

If you have any requests for a chapter, just let me know :) I have a basic plan for the end of this story, so I may not be able to write some requests if they conflict, but I'll try to get other suggestions in if I can.

Thanks for reading and reviews would really be appreciated.


	10. Normal

Okay guys. Before anything else, this chapter is really really really really really REEEALLY short, I know. It's been a big last couple of days. I had a huge test today (with more coming up) and though I think it went well and still have a crapload of stuff left to do, I just really needed to write this before my schedule gets even crazier. I'll be going back in after that and doing some M-A-J-O-R editing, as I did not have time to write this to a standard I see as acceptable for myself, but since it would be too long until I do have the time, here's chapter 10. *cringes*

* * *

"Just how stupid do you think I am?" Arthur stands, arm crossed, and paces around his student, circling like a shark. You can't just forge a teacher's signature like that!

Alfred hangs his head. "It's not that I think you're stupid. I just-"

"You just _what?" _Arthur groans. Alfred looks up at him, guilty, but not enough so to apologize. "Alfred, the teachers here think of you as a good student, and it seems as though you are making a valiant effort to disprove them!"

Alfred shrinks back and looks back up at Arthur accusingly.

Arthur sighs. He's supposed to be making Alfred feel better, not worse. He keeps having to remind himself that this is _Alfred, _and not some law-breaking punk as usual. "Just...What were you _thinking?_"

"I don't know." He stares down at his shoes. "That I wanted to go on the field trip."

Arthur resists the urge to roll his eyes. Well he gathered _that _much. "Why though? Did you want to go to the Natural History Museum _that _badly? Is it just that your friends are going?"

"No and no."

Ugh! One day. _One day_ he'll get a straight, clearly explained answer from this kid. Today isn't going to be that day, though, will it? "Then why?"

"I already told you. I don't know."

Arthur sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I know you're not going to like this, but I think things were going better when we just did the chess."  
Alfred's face falls. "Hey look, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Just...I mean, things work now. No need to change it."

"I got a grade report yesterday. Tutoring you is most certainly _not _working."

"Hey, lets give it a little more time before jumping to conclusions though." Alfred holds his hands in the air like a policeman just accused him of something.

Arthur narrows his eyes at his student. "I thought you liked the chess games. Not me prying, but you liked the game."

Alfred, yet again, does nothing but shrug.

"Come on. Throw me a bone for once." Arthur closes his eyes, running out of options. He feels like a horrible person for his job coming to mind rather than the student. He cares about Alfred, really, he does, but with this constant pressure on him round the clock for his students to live up to unrealistic expectations...well, it's hard. But, to Arthur's shock and amazement (and a little bit of horror), Alfred decides that he _will _give in and let the poor guy have some information to work with, even it's only a little.

"It's just...I mean, I _like _chess better, but its not _normal." _

Arthur frowns. "I don't follow." Chess seems like a pretty common game.

"I mean, it's not a normal thing you do every day at school."

Hmm. Alfred doesn't seem like the kind of person to resist change, to strive to keep all his ducks in a row. "Neither are field trips, though."

Alfred rolls his eyes, smiling. "Yeah, but those are _supposed _to happen in school."

"I suppose so." Arthur nods. "But why is every other change so bad?"

"It's not change," Alfred shakes his head. "It's just, I...I want things to be _normal..._again."

Silence: a long, introspective, drawn out one, in which Arthur just stares. So he was just striving for normalcy: something that he saw as represented by a run-of-the-mill field trip.

"I'm sorry," the psychologist says, eyes dropping down to his hands, folded in front of him. Now he kinda wish he _had _signed the form, though would have had to cross out the signature anyway.

"Not your fault." Alfred nudges the floor with the toe of his sneaker.

Arthur knits his eyebrows together, studying the little scratches in his desk-table and trying to find a way to fix everything. And he gets an idea. "Are you doing anything after school today?"

"Yeah, chess club, why?" Alfred tilts his head to the side quizzically when Arthur hesitates.

"I know that you didn't really want to go for the sake of it, but if you want, how about taking a little unofficial field trip after the last bell to the Natural History Museum? Next best thing to getting out of class, right."

* * *

It's short (and rushed), I know! X( I only had 35 minutes. Until my schedule isn't as crazy, which will be next month, I might not be able to write as much; I'm seriously surprised that I've found time to do things like breathe. But before time runs out and I can't write anymore, we'll go with extrinsic and intrinsic motivation for this chapter. Intrinsic motivation is wanting to do something for its own internal, personal reward. For example, "I want to read because I'm interested in the story." Most of the children on the field trip had this kind of motivation for going on the trip. They wanted to go because they enjoyed learning about the exhibits at the museum. Alfred initially signed up due to extrinsic motivation, being motivated by outside rewards. So, it would be "I want to read so that I can get a good grade on the book report. Or in Alfreds case, he wanted to go on the trip to get out of school. If you're looking for something to read in the meantime, I started a story called "Chromatic" not too long ago. Updates might be a bit more frequent with this since I actually sat down, sucked it up, and wrote an outline before starting that fic.

I'll try to write my next little psych bit in more detail and with deeper concepts when I can actually find time. Thank you to everyone who read, followed, favorited, and reviewed. I am still so shocked by the response this has gotten. Thank you so much!

The Goliath Beetle: Thanks, I'm glad you enjoy the little psych bits. Sorry that this wasn't very long. I'll be able to write longer chapters in a few weeks. :( And we'll definitely be seeing Alfred's dad again soon...though not in the most fortunate of circumstances.

Imaginary Scribe: Yay! So happy that there are people looking for updates. Hope this will be enough until I can upload a full length update!

Marzue: No problem, and thanks! I'm really glad that the info at the end interests people. I'll try rambling on to most people about this stuff and they look like I'm slowly killing them the longer I talk about it. XD

DaLantis: Haha, yep. Maybe one day he'll get away with something, but not if Arthur has a say in it. :)


	11. Childish

It's been crazy around here and a while since I posted a chapter, but I'm back with a new dedication to this story and ready to start pumping out chapters! I've had some trouble writing lately because my writing isn't living up to the quality standards I have set in my head (though that's not the reason this update has taken so long - it's just been crazy. Don't worry, I wouldn't let my personal worries get in the way of this ;) ), but I've finally come to terms with the fact that the only way to get my writing to where it needs to be is to just keep writing more. :) There has been a distinct lack of updates from a lot of fics around here lately, so I thought I'd end that little trend. I was so rushed on the last few chapters that I'll need to go back and make some m-a-j-o-r edits, but until those can be fixed up, enjoy!

* * *

"That will be sixteen dollars even, sir,"

Alfred reaches into his pocket to provide six crumpled-up dollars for his ticket into the museum, but Arthur's hand stops him.

"It's on me," Arthur smirks.

Alfred hesitates and puts the wad of ones back into his pocket, clearly uncomfortable with Arthur paying for him.

"Oh, relax Alfred." Arthur rolls his eyes as he slides a twenty towards the woman giving out tickets, through the semi-circular hole in the yellowed plexi-glass that separates her from the customers.

"And here you are." She slides two adults tickets and four dollars in change back out.

"Thank you," Arthur nods curtly. "Come on, Alfred."

Alfred follows along like a newly-hatched duckling, ducking his head down and shoving his hands into pockets awkwardly.

"Alright. So what do you want to look at first?" Arthur calls back, but he gets no response. Alfred has already found something that peaks his interest, and is seen nearly leaning over the low metal rail that separates visitors from a mid-sized dinosaur skeleton.

Arthur walks up quietly. "You like dinosaurs?"

Alfred takes a step back and smiles sheepishly. "Yeah, just a bit."

"I see."

"This one is a Dilophosaurus...probably not fully grown, based on its size."

Arthur raises his eyebrows. "You can tell what kind just by looking at it?" The information card is on the other side of the exhibit.

"I wish. No, I've been here before."

"So you _did_ want to come here! You said you just wanted to get out of school and go on a field trip." Arthur smirks.

"Well I wasn't _lying. _That was the main goal, but… I mean, this place is kinda cool."

Arthur looks at the way Alfred's eyes sparkle up at the dinosaur. "You said it's not fully grown? Did you find that out by coming here before?"

Alfred shakes his head. "No, I've just read the descriptions of adult ones versus juvenile ones. It's just my best guess." He pauses for a minute before going on. "These guys were actually found mostly in the US. A lot of other dinosaurs similar to them use the crests on their foreheads to make tones and communicate with other dinosaurs, but the dilophosaurus crests, at least according to research, are thought to be too delicate to have any real purpose other than display...probably like lion manes or peacock feathers…"

"Wow." Arthur raises his eyes to look at the dilophosaurus. "You really research these things, don't you?"

"I guess so…" Another pause. "I kinda want to do this when I grow up - paleontology." He looks down at his shoes as his cheeks redden.

"Why is that such a bad thing?" Arthur can't quite figure out why he's embarrassed about it.

"It's just… it's a little childish, don't you think? Digging for dinosaur bones? It's something a pre-schooler would want to do when they grow up."

Arthur leans back against the railing and contemplates. Alfred's not wrong. There are those handful of jobs that all little kids want to be before they find out about the more mundane ones that they'll more than likely wind up actually having. Before the real world slaps them in the face and gives them a reality check. They're the action jobs. The girls want to be ballerinas, or pop-stars, or teachers, or vets (or more commonly all four). They boys want to be astronauts or firefighters or diggers of dinosaur bones. But sooner or later, they grow out of it. They find more suitable career goals… all but a few, who manage to grow out of their childishness while keeping their childish interests.

But, Arthur realizes, these interest's aren't childish, they're child_-like. _Child-like in the sense of having a never-ending curiosity about the world and the need to explore. Child-like in the sense of being a geyser of fresh ideas and never hesitating to try even the most bizarre of them. People _should_ grow out of childish things, like tantrums and having to be told to look both ways before crossing the road, but it's these child-_like_ qualities that people grow out of when they really should hold on to them as their most prized possession.

And the few that slip through the cracks and _do_ hang on to these qualities, the people like Alfred, never lacking energy, or for lack of a better word, _whimsicality, _they're the truly amazing ones.

After all, _someone _has to go on to be the ballerina, and _someone _has to work aboard the international space station. Who better than they?

Arthur smiles and closes his eyes. "tell me more about it."

"The dinosaur or paleontology?"

"Either," he shrugs. Alfred seems more than willing to give a speech about both.

"Well, for the dilophosaurus, you can't really tell males from females, since they're pretty much the same size. It walked on it's back two legs, since the bones go in at a certain angle under the hips, and the front arms aren't good for movement. The back legs also suggest that they were very good runners, probably for helping with hunting - meat eaters, obviously. I already told about the pair of crests on it's head. Well, these guys were one of the first of its suborder to have crests. Other theropods with them usually showed up later, and-"

Arthur chuckles.

"What?" Alfred asks, breaking off mid-sentence.

"Oh nothing," Arthur says, shaking his head. "You're going to hurt yourself if you keep talking a mile a minute like this. Why didn't you ever tell me you liked this kind of stuff?"

Alfred shrugs. "It never came up."

Arthur gives him a deadpan look. Oh there had been _plenty _of times when he had pushed for career goal information.

Alfred groans, partly annoyed. "Like I said, it's kid stuff."

Arthur shakes his head again. "I think you'd be great at it."

"You really think so? I mean… it's not a very wide job market. It would be really hard to get into..."

"Alfred?" Arthur asks.

"Yeah?"

"Is that your dream job?"

"Well… yeah. Although I was also thinking about cleaning mirrors for a living. It's something I could really see myself doing."

"What, why would-?" Arthur starts, before understanding what Alfred was really getting at. "Oh, that's taking bad jokes to a whole new level, Alfred!"

"Aw come on!" Alfred says, a bit too loudly for the museum. "It's so bad it's actually funny."

Arthur rolls his eyes, smirking and secretly struggling not to laugh. "_Anyway, _if that's your dream job, then go for it."

Alfred nods, a new determination in his eyes. "Thanks. You're one of the only people who'se said that. I don't tell many people that." He looks down at his shoes again.

Arthur scoffs. "Don't let other people's opinions get in the way so much, kid… although, you do know that to get into a good school and get some good training, you'll have to have good grades, right?"

Alfred sighs. "I know, it's just… two of my classes end next semester. I'll never save them in time." Christmas break would start in two weeks, then a week after going back to school, semester-long classes finals started.

"Hmm" Arthur frowns. "Let's make a plan of action. Since two of your classes are semester long, and you need to pull those up now, lets focus on those. If you do well for the rest of the class and ace the final, you should be able to pull your grade back up at least a letter grade. If you work hard, maybe even two."

Alfred nods. "But, I mean, we've been trying that for a while now. How am I supposed to do that?"

Arthur sighs. "Honestly Alfred, I don't know. I've been a psychologist at this school for so long. The job description there was supposed to be helping students work through problems, but instead it became talking down students who are two seconds away from sucker punching the principal in the face. I can't say I'm used to cases like yours anymore. The easiest thing to do would be to sit with you and tutor you so that I know the information is getting somewhere, but there's obviously a reason why it hasn't been lately. And that's what concerns me, even though it would take longer to fix."

"Listen, Mr. Kirkland." Alfred shifts uncomfortably. "I know it's your job and everything, but like I said, I think I just kinda need things to be normal for once, and you worming your way through my head via a game of chess is kinda the opposite of normal."

Arthur purses his lips. He has this gut feeling that that's the wrong route to be going down, but decides to give Alfred the benefit of the doubt on this one. "Alright. Want to study this thing some more or go look at the other exhibits?"

"Nah, we can move on."

Arthur nods and follows Alfred, who seems to know exactly where he's going, off into the museum. "So Mr. Kirkland, is psychology _your _dream job?"

Arthur laughs. "Like I said, helping people is. Talking violent kids down 'round the clock and being cursed at… not so much."

"Yeah." Alfred says sadly. There's not much else to say.

Arthur's phone buzzes in his pocket and he sneaks it out, looking around nervously for 'no cell phone' signs, feeling a lot like a student trying to hide a phone in school himself. Speak of the devil, it's a an email from work. His eyes widen as he reads it. There's a meeting with a board from the school district in two days. Elizaveta will have to make her decision by tomorrow.

* * *

Sorry for the cliff-hanger. We're going to start wrapping this story up here shortly, but the next chapter or two will be big ones. Alfred seems like the kind of person who like paleontology. And don't fret, I'm not trying to diss ANY career paths! They are all important. Trust me, the career path I'm on is definitely not one I knew about as a little kid. Go after your dreams, but if it's a risky career path, just know what you're getting into and have a backup plan to support yourself in the meantime. :)

And, we can go with operant conditioning for our psychology term of the day. You may or may not have heard of this, but most of you have heard of classical conditioning, where Ivan Pavlov trained dogs to salivate at the sound of a bell. Operant conditioning, a theory by B.F Skinner, is similar, but instead of triggering an unconscious response based on association with a natural stimulus, it's reinforcing or punishing behaviors to make them occur more or less often. There are four types: Positive reinforcement makes a behavior more likely to occur by giving a pleasant stimulus (like a treat) for a desired behavior. Positive punishment makes a behavior less likely to occur by giving an unpleasant stimulus (detention for misbehaving). Negative reinforcement makes a behavior more likely to occur by taking away an unpleasant stimulus (like no homework for doing well in class), and negative punishment makes a behavior less likely to occur by removing a pleasant stimulus (like taking away a phone in class). Alfred has learned not to talk about his career goal through positive punishment: receiving negative feedback/ disapproval from it. (Don't worry, Alfred's dad is one of the few that support the decision)

Thank you to all of my wonderful readers!

Marzue: Glad you liked last chapter despite the length. And the mind _is _really interesting, isn't it? It's what I love about it. We've figured out how nearly every other part of the body works, but a lot of the brain is still a huge question mark. There's so much to figure out.

Big Eater Queen: Oh my gosh, that's so great to hear! Psychology is one of the most interesting things I've learned about. Don't get me wrong, there are some parts of it that I despise (as with any subject) but overall, I can't get enough of it. So glad to see that you like it again!

EgyptianRatScrew: Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed chapter one. I love chess, but personally stink at it (though I very recently won a game for the first time….after like, five years. I wasn't kidding when I said I stunk). Hopefully you have better luck than me with it. XD

kalebrianna: Thank you! I seriously can't believe it's been over a month since I've updated, but all the craziness is coming to an end and updates will be much more frequent. :)


	12. Bad News

So remember when I said that I'd have plenty of free time to devote to writing now that summer is here? Yeah. Turns out I was wrong. Between studying for next year's classes, studying for the SAT, meeting my goal on camp nanowrimo, and my science program, I didn't have as much free time as I thought I would. I worked extra hard in camp nanowrimo yesterday so that I could both meet my daily goal for that and write this for you, though. Enjoy! Sorry again. :(

* * *

When Arthur unlocks the front door and steps into the school, his footsteps echo against the tile. It's deathly silent and just as empty. But, he knows that one person will be here. He slips into the front office, and sure enough, light spills out from one of the rooms down the back hallway.

Elizavetta's office.

He peeks inside to see her hunched over her desk, head in her hands and fingers wound through her long wavy hair, looking about ready to pull it out.

"Knock knock," he says, gently tapping his knuckles against the heavy door.

Elizaveta looks up, suddenly, surprised. Her eyes are rimmed in red, the eyelashes clumped together and still wet.

"You okay?" Arthur asks.

"Yeah, yeah." She pushes her hair back out of her face. "It's just... work, you know?"

"Do I?" He chuckles. "Yeah. Yeah, I do know."

She sighs and looks down at the numerous papers scattered across her desk.

"Heard the district is coming down here tomorrow."

Her eyes grow huge. "Did they send that email out to everyone?"

"Ah... yeah, I think so." Arthur digs his phone out of his pocket and checks the recipients. "Yeah. All the staff."

"Oh, heavens!" She lays her forehead down on her desk and groans.

Arthur just stares at his shoes awkwardly. "Well," he sighs, "I'm going to go through some papers of my own. I'll be in my office if you need me." There's not really much that he can do here.

Elizaveta nods wordlessly. "Thanks."

Arthur isn't lying, he does have papers that need to completed and files, information to go through, and reports that need to be sent or filed, but upon looking at these, he has a different plan in mind.

He glances at huge dinosaur of a computer that sits on his desk, debating in his mind before finally sliding over and switching it on.

His heart gives a painful clench as he pulls open a word processor.

And he starts typing.

* * *

Alfred, too, is met by darkness and silence when he unlocks his front door after Mr. Kirkland drops him off.

"Dad?!" he calls. It's past dinner time. His dad should be back now. He should have been back a while ago, truth be told. "Dad!" he yells again.

No answer.

He huffs, and begins pacing around the house, flicking on lights and ducking inside rooms to look around. "Hello?" Still no answer.

Alfred groans, going to the freezer to see what's inside. It was his dad's turn to cook, and now he's really wishing he had gone for that quick run through the McDonalds drive thru that Mr. Kirkland had offered before dropping him off. All that's in there that he knows how to cook is a bag of frozen peas.

No thanks.

He'd better call his dad and make sure everything is alright and to pick up some food, he thinks, reaching into his pocket to dig his old phone out, still off from when he was at the museum. The moment the backlight blinks on, he's assaulted with voicemails and text messages. All from Matthew.

His eyebrows furrow. This can't be good.

"C'mon, answer," Alfred mutters to himself as he redials Matthew, the phone ringing several times.

"Alfred?" Matthew finally picks up.

"Hi! Hi. What's up? I have, like, thirteen missed calls from you."

Alfred can hear an annoyed huff from the other end. "You need to keep your phone turned on," Matthew chides.

"Sorry," Alfred mutters, though he doesn't really mean it. He knows too well from all of their years together that he should just agree if he ever wants to move onto a more serious topic with his brother. "So what's wrong? Where's dad?"

Matthew sighs into the phone. "Listen, Alfred, you might want to sit down for this."

"Yeah?" Alfred's face falls, and he stumbles over to the couch in the dark, sitting on the very edge of it.

"You know what? I'm almost at the house. Just wait until I get there, okay?"

"Almost at the house?" Alfred sputters. "What are you even doing in town?" Matthew goes to college three hours away. Sure, sometimes he comes home on the weekends and for holidays, does some laundry and whatnot, but he's never just spontaneously come after school when he has classes to get to the following morning. "Matthew?" Alfred prods again, when he doesn't answer.

"Look, I just turned onto the street. I'll explain when I get there, okay?"

"Wait, no, tell me now!" Silence. "Matthew?"

Alfred pulls the phone away from his face and looks at the screen. Call ended. Of course.

He dashes up to wait by the window, and sure enough, Matthew's old, beaten car pulls up on the side of the curb but a moment later.

"Matthew!" Alfred dashes outside before his older brother even has a chance to turn the car off and step outside.

"Hey bud." Matthew climbs on out of the car and throws his arm around his little brother.

"What happened?" Alfred asks.

Matthew frowns, taking Alfred by the shoulders and pushing him down so that he sits in the driver's seat, car door still open into the street. "Listen, don't freak out yet, but dad had a stroke."

Alfred's eyes grow to the size of grapefruits, his heart pounding.

"I said don't freak out yet!" Matthew shouts, holding his hands up. "Dad is fine."

Alfred breathes heavily for a moment. "He's okay?"

"Yeah, Dad is okay." Matthew looks Alfred over: sheet white, breathing quickly, and looking like he's about to throw up. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Yeah," Alfred nods slowly. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Good." Matthew kneels down and gives his brother's shoulder a brotherly squeeze. "Like I said, he's fine. Sorry for freaking you out. I just called so many times to let you know why he wasn't there. I thought you'd call back earlier, and by the time you did, I was so close that I thought it would be better just to tell you in person. Listen, Dad is okay, but they're still running tests to figure things out. There's a very short recovery period, he's just not supposed to strain himself for a while. Trust me, talking to him, you can't even tell anything happened. You and I are going to be helping him out..." Matthew trails off, glancing over Alfred once more. "You sure you're okay?"

Alfred manages a nod.

"C'mere," Matthew says, smiling sadly with his arms open, enveloping Alfred in a hug. "It's okay. We'll go visit him." He pats Alfred's hair.

"Thanks," Alfred mutters, hugging his brother back. But all he can think of is how close he just was to losing one of the last people he still has left.

* * *

Arthur is torn from his thoughts by a knock at his door.

"Come in, Elizavetta," he calls.

Her head pokes around the half-open door before quietly slipping in. "Hey. So I guess you figured out that I'll have to cut someone by tomorrow morning."

Arthur nods slowly. "I have."

Elizavetta sighs, taking a seat.

"And who the candidates for that cut are?"

"Yes, that too."

Another sigh.

"Roderich is my husband. I know I say that work and home life aren't related but..." She groans in frustration, clenching her hands into fists.

"But they are."

"I can't...ugh." She rubs her temples. "It's not right to keep him here because of personal matters. And besides, the staff members are starting to notice and... I know what I have to do. I'll just have to cut him."

"I don't want this ruining your marriage," Arthur says quietly.

"Neither do I." Elizavetta laughs humorously.

"Look," Arthur says. His throat catches and he finds himself barely able to speak. "I'm going to make this easy for you." He reaches over to his computer and clicks print, the fresh papers sliding out of the printer by his boss's feet.

Her eyebrows furrow and she bends down to pick them up. "Your letter of resignation." She looks up, eyes wide. "Arthur I can't ask this of you-"

"You didn't," he cuts her off. "This was my decision"

"I-" Elizavetta's mouth moves like a fish out of water. "Thank you," she finally manages to get out. "Are you sure though? What about your students?"

"My students," Arthur smiles, "are tough kids. They can take what life throws at them."

* * *

Don't worry: not the last chapter. Both Alfred and Arthur will stay in the story. I'll say no more. ;)

In making decisions between two alternatives, you may fall into one of three categories:

approach-approach: You have to choose between two desirable alternatives: Such as getting a pet kitten, or getting a pet puppy.

approach-avoidance: In approach avoidance, one possible decision has both desirable and undesirable qualities: Maybe you get into a very good school, but it's far from home and you want to stay nearby.

avoidance-avoidance: In this conflict, you must choose between two undesirable alternatives. Arthur had to choose between giving up his job and seeing his friend's marriage fall into the danger zone.

On a side note, are any of you doing camp nanowrimo?

Side note number two: AP test scores are coming out this week. Good luck to all of you who will be receiving them! For those of you signing up for AP classes next year, I personally loved AP Psych. It's a challenging, but very interesting class. A lot of the AP test for it is doing exactly what I do here: taking psychology terms and relating it to a scenario, so you've already got some insight. ;)

Imaginary Scribe: Thanks! It's coming to a close but it's not quite done yet.

Marzue: Hi! Not to worry; no fics are being abandoned. And thanks, when I thought of what Alfred would like to be when he grows up, my first thought was: dinosaurs! And yeah, it is pretty interesting. :) It's almost like a really fast way of evolving.

Candyfloss Cloud: Thanks!

The Goliath Beetle: I guess the chapter didn't exactly make things easier for them, but rest assured that everyone will find their way eventually.

atomicapple: First off: love the username. Second, reviews like this are awesome! You have no idea. I'm so glad that you were able to connect to this story so much and that this is a good representation to you. And thanks for saying that I shouldn't be embarrassed about my writing (and I'm that way with drawing, too). It's probably a good thing, though, isn't it. Means that you're improving with your work and don't like old stuff as much. Well, good luck with the drawing!

LeFay Strent: Oh, don't you love those moments when something you learned in class actually shows up in the outside world and you just want to shout from the rooftops that you know what they're talking about? *cough*trivia crack*cough* Thanks so much!

Guest: Thank you! Hope you found this chapter interesting as well. :)


	13. Checkmate

It's been too long! Way, way, way too long! Thank you all for sticking with me and please forgive me! In the future, if you want to know what's going on with a fic or when it will be updated- something along those lines, just shoot me a PM. :) That being said, I won't waste any of your time and I'll get right to the chapter:

* * *

The front lobby is abuzz with the chattering and footfalls of students going to their classes in the morning. Alfred slips through all of them, towards the blessed doors of the dilapidated front office. The doors click shut behind him, muffling the noise to a low hum.

"Alfred?" The lady behind the desk raises an eyebrow, though she can't say much more since she's on the phone with a parent.

Alfred just stares back at her, wide-eyed, wondering if she's about to stop him. He shakes his head and darts back to the hallway in the back anyway, first period be darned.

He doesn't even try to knock on Arthur's door, he just goes to barge in like he normally does. Only, the doorknob doesn't budge when he turns it. He tries again, with both hands, turning harder and idly wondering if he's about to break the knob. He finally resorts to frantic knocking, though he already knows that Arthur isn't there.

No! He doesn't need this right now! He needs to talk to Arthur. Darn it, where _is_ he?

"Excuse me?" Alfred feels a firm hand on his shoulder and spins around in relief, expecting to find Mr. Kirkland. His hopes plummet when, instead, he meets the eyes of the principal, having gotten her attention with his knocking.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

His throat goes dry. Surely she'll send him to class.

"Y- yeah," he manages to croak out. "I'm fine."

"Your brother notified us about your dad," she says, forehead creasing. "I'm sorry."

Alfred just nods, the words barely getting through to him. "Where's Mr. Kirkland?"

"He quit yesterday," she says softly.

Alfred's blood runs cold. "What?" No. He couldn't have. He _wouldn't_ have. He wouldn't just leave him her by himself.

"He quit late last night."

"Why?" Alfred simply cannot process the news.

Mrs. Elizavetta sighs, scrunching her face up for a split second. "It's complicated." She checks her watch. "I have a big meeting to get to. Do you want me to call your brother to come pick you up?" she asks, noting Alfred's apparent mental state. "I can mark you as excused considering the recent circumstances."

Alfred shakes his head. Both his brother and his father insisted that he go to school. His grades had been getting better, but not enough that he could afford missing any class, according to them. They wouldn't let him go back home.

"Okay," she says, the strangest hint of guilt flitting across her features. "You can stay in the waiting area for a little while, if you like, but you'll have to get to class eventually, okay?"

"Okay."

Elizavetta nods. "I'll go let Mrs. Brown know." With that, her heels click down towards the front of the hall.

Alfred turns and tries in vain to get Mr. Kirkland's door open. It doesn't budge. Instead, he peeks through the narrow tinted window in the door. The lights inside are dark, but he can still make out the red cafeteria table and bookshelf where they've always been. But, it's clear that something's changed. The books, once haphazardly thrown on the bookshelf, are stacked neatly in open boxes on the floor. The dinosaur of a computer is unplugged, the clock taken off the wall. His favorite folding chair is nowhere to be seen.

Alfred grits his teeth together and bites back a sound of frustration before sinking down to the floor and wrapping his arms around his legs.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no! This wasn't supposed to be happening! None of it!

He can't go to class, he can't. He knows that his dad is okay; he talked to him last night, after all. But still, he _almost_ wasn't. And _almost_ can be a scary thing. He'll be okay, but he just needs a few days to mentally recollect himself. He can't see why that is such a hard thing for his dad and brother to understand. If he went to class now, all his attention would be on holding himself together rather than whatever lesson they're teaching. He just needs some time.

"Alfred?"

Alfred's head shoots up as a worried Mr. Kirkland strides down the hall.

"Are you-" Arthur means to ask 'are you okay' but the words are cut off as Alfred flings himself toward the former teacher, enveloping him in a tight bear hug. Question answered.

"You quit," Alfred mumbles into his shoulder accusingly.

Arthur pats his back soothingly. "I did. Thank high school politics."

"Why'd you come back?"

"I told you before that I'd help you even if I wasn't working here, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Alfred sniffs.

"Elizavetta let me know what happened. You okay?"

Alfred shrugs.

"Come on." Arthur digs around in his pocket until he comes out with a keychain, easily unlocking the door that Alfred had very nearly ripped off of its hinges not moments before.

Alfred slides into the bench at the cafeteria table and waits for Arthur to take his usual seat.

"I was told that your dad is okay, correct?"

"Yeah."

"So then tell me what the issue is." Arthur can guess, but he'd rather hear it in Alfred's words.

The familiar wall goes up in Alfred's eyes, known from all of those times when he wanted to keep his thoughts to himself, but in the end, he sighs and slumps over, tearing the wall down.

"I mean, I already lost one parent out of the blue, and that was bad enough. Of course I was distraught over it, but I really didn't think it would follow me for as long as it did...at least not to school. I really wasn't trying to slack off, but it was like no matter how hard I tried, even if my mom wasn't on my mind, school didn't matter so much to me anymore. I don't know why." Alfred squints at nothing in particular and blows out a huff of air. "And then here the one parent I have left almost..." The words get caught in his throat and he can't finish the sentence.

He leans his elbows on the table and places his head in his hands. "I know nothing happened, but... but it _could_ have. What if something still does happen?"

Arthur simply stares ahead. This is what he had been wanting out of him all along: this confession of thought. And yet, there's no joy, no triumph from finally hearing it. Not from seeing his favorite student in pain like this.

"I just-" Alfred opens his mouth to continue, but doesn't know exactly what to say.

"Alfred look at me."

He obeys, looking up with his eyebrows drawn together and eyes slightly panicked.

"Relax."

"I can't just _relax_," Alfred notes rather indignantly.

"Look. Alfred, you're thinking too much. Now, with the knowledge that everything is going to be okay and that we'll work this out, just take some deep breaths for me. This'll be a lot easier if you're calm."

Alfred takes several large, quick breaths, trying to listen.

"I said to take deep breaths, not to hyperventilate."

"I'm _trying!_" Any effort to calm him down is lost. "I need to do something mindless," he says suddenly. "You're right; I'm thinking too much."

"What do you want to do?" Arthur asks

"You didn't pack up that chess set yet, did you?"

"No, but I'd hardly call chess mindless."

"With my skill level in it, it is," Alfred remarks.

"Can't argue with that," Arthur mutters good-heartedly as he scrambles for the chess set.

And they play, just like old times, in dead silence, though not the awkward kinds that they originally had when they first started playing. And gradually, Alfred calms down.

Of course, Arthur wins, Alfred being the sucky chess player that he is. But, to his surprise, when Arthur calls checkmate, Alfred moves another piece anyway.

"Thought you were against playing past checkmate?" Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No, you were right. All that time ago, when you asked me to think about what the point of continuing to play even though you'll lose no matter what? I think I get it."

Arthur stares at the board, listening. Just last night, he thought Alfred had been right to quit at checkmate. His job situation - he would lose no matter what. So he quit at checkmate and spared Roderich's career and Elizavetta's marriage.

"You kept playing after checkmate, Alfred continues. "You came back to help me even though your job was lost. And it paid off."

Arthur stares at his student, or former student, in awe, his intelligence amazing him.

"Maybe," Alfred goes on, "maybe Checkmate isn't 'game over'. Maybe it's more of a pause until you start playing another game."

"Alfred," Arthur takes his hand off of his queen, about to take Alfred's King.

"Yeah?"

"You've had too many Checkmates in your life. I think it's high time you start kicking butt in whatever this 'next game' may be."

Alfred smiles. It's small, but it's still a smile. "You'll help?"

"You won't be able to get rid of me if you try."

* * *

And there we go! I could end this here...I don't think I will, though. What do you think? I think I need another two chapters or so.

Psychology term of the day: Sympathetic vs. parasympathetic nervous system. So the nervous system can be broken down into several different sub-categories, but these are two you'll hear a lot in psychology. Basically, the parasympathetic nervous system controls the body's 'rest and digest' mode, where you are relaxed, and the sympathetic controls the 'fight or flight' mode, generally when a threat is detected. Alfred was panicking and his sympathetic nervous system was active. If you're taking psychology and have trouble remembering which is which, this is how I remember it: parasympathetic starts with para-, which is also in paralyze. Since paralyze means still, you wouldn't be doing any fighting or running.

Reviewers: you're the best!

Marzue: NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month, which is November. During November, people from all over the world go on , and gry to write a 50,000 word novel in one month. It's great. You have people making book covers for other people and helping everyone else out with their plots. I can't say I've ever quite reached the 50K, but it's still a great experience nevertheless. Camp Nanowrimo takes place in April and July. It's not quite as big as November's nanowrimo, but it's still great (especially since in July, school doesn't get in the way.) The great thing about CAMP NaNoWriMo is that you get placed into a virtual "cabin" with up to 11 other people, and during the whole month you all talk about your books and help each other with your plots. It's a lot of fun. If anyone does any of the NaNoWriMo events in the future, lemme know!

Goliath Beetle: Don't you worry; things are getting better for everyone! I'm so glad it seems like everything is coming together nicely. I was getting worried for a little while. I hope you liked this chapter, and thank you so much!

95Jezzica: Okay. So I legitimately stared at this review in awe for about ten minutes. Like, I can't even process that people like my writing enough to search for it like that and get so excited finding it. I mean, there is really no higher honor than that. Thank you!


	14. Major

When Alfred enter's Arthur's office, he looks quite confused, and for obvious reasons. Hadn't Mr. Kirkland quit? Why on earth would he be called back to his old office?

His confusion is only heightened when he finds his older brother, sitting next to Arthur in the now rather empty office, an unopened laptop on his lap.

You can visibly see the terror wash over Alfred's face. Oh gosh. What did he do? What was he in trouble for?

Matthew laughs quietly to himself, reading his brother's expression all too well. "Sit down," he says, gesturing to a chair in-between the two. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble," he adds when Alfred takes a cautious step backward.

Alfred raises an eyebrow, but steps forward and sits anyway.

"What are you doing here?" he asks both of them after a few seconds of silence.

"It's not like I'm banned from the campus, Alfred," Arthur says. "Your brother e-mailed me."

Alfred looks over at his older brother questioningly.

Matthew just shrugs. "You've talked a lot about him," he says, earning a pointed glare from a now embarrassed Alfred.

"Why?"

Arthur leans over, stealing Alfred's attention away from his brother. "I kept meaning to talk to you about this, but other things kept coming up. I believe you were scheduled to graduate early, yes?"

"Yeah?" Alfred asks, the question clear in his voice. Were they here to tell him that he couldn't graduate early? That his grades weren't good enough? He'd pulled them up. They weren't the A's that they used to be, but they were solid high C's. He thinks he can have them at Bs by the time he graduates.

"Er… well, it's January already. Your brother asked me if the school had… you know, made any plans? For college?"

Oh. That's what this is about.

"Oh well, yeah, I've _thought _about it plenty." Alfred scratches the back of his head anxiously, a nervous tick he seems to exhibit quite often.

Matthew frowns at his words. "_Thought _about isn't going to fill out an application."

"I know, I know," he says, irritation creeping into his voice. "I just wanted to get my grades up and all before I apply."

"Your grades?" Matthew's brow furrows. "What happened to your grades?"

Alfred blanches, realizing his fatal flaw. Arthur grimaces, feeling bad for the boy while Matthew aims a pointed look towards his little brother that clearly spells out 'we'll be having a good long talk about this later.'

"_Anyway,"_ Arthur says, trying to move on and break up the tension. He motions for the laptop from Matthew, who opens it and logs in for him before passing it down. "You can't wait any longer. Deadlines are coming up, and you need to apply now."

"Alright, alright. So I guess we're applying now?"

Arthur nods.

"Do have any schools in mind?"

Alfred nods. "G. Mendel University."

"Staying local, are ya?" Matthew says, elbowing Alfred lightly in the ribs.

"Eh," Alfred shrugs. It was only semi-local, about two and a half to three hours away. It must seem local to Matthew, though, who has long since been in school across the country, which would take several days to traverse by car.

Arthur nods silently, pulling up the online application. The school is a good fit for him, he thinks.

Over the course of the next two hours, both help Alfred fill out his application and start on his essays, leaving to look up official documents and class ranks and the like every so often.

"Major," Arthur says out load, approaching the end of the application. "Undecided?"

He had assumed that's what Alfred would choose, what with the amount of planning he's put into this so far (although, he has to admit, despite the lack of action, Alfred has shown that he actually _has _thought long and hard about college.)

"No." Alfred shakes his head slowly.

Matthew looks over at him, waiting to hear what his future career path is going to be.

"I think… I think I'm going to major in psychology."

Arthur freezes.

"Think?" Matthew frowns. "This a big decision to base off of a _think."_

"I'm sure," Alfred says, a bit more confident this time. He looks over at Arthur for confirmation, who raises his eyebrows in a silent question. 'Is it because of me?'

Alfred gives a slight nod, unnoticeable to Matthew.

Arthur slings an arm around Alfred in a tight side hug. He could just about cry right now.

"You'll be great." And he means it. Alfred is going to go on to do great things - he'll make sure of it.

* * *

**Uhmmmmm… so this chapter is LONG overdue (and yet still kinda short and rushed X( ). I think it was summer when I last updated this… **

**I'm so sorry, really.  
This is most likely the last chapter, although I haven't made up my mind for good, as it seems as though there are still some loose ends that need to be tied. **

**So a bit of an update:**

**Aside from working on NaNoWriMo day in and day out all through November, I've been contemplating my writing for the past few months. I truly feel as though my writing has improved since I started writing on this account, and that most of these stories are of a poorer quality than I would like, in part due to rushing to finish them (this one and this chapter included.)**

**As a result, I've decided to start fresh and create a new account under the name OspreyRose, and move on to new things without any ties to my old writing. As much as I'd like to get rid of these stories, I feel as though I owe it to all of my readers to keep these up for you all to read, and to finish my unfinished projects.**

**There's a chance that I may be moving "On The Horse That Threw You" and "Chromatic" over to my new account, but re-written a bit. **

**Anywho, thank you so much for all of the support. I'd love to hear your take on all this, so feel free to comment or PM me. **


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